


Hung the North Star

by ursweetheartless



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Hurt, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Sentinel/Guide, Soulmates, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-03 06:21:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17278703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ursweetheartless/pseuds/ursweetheartless
Summary: Peter was used to the constant low-level buzz of the spider senses, an endless layered feed of granular information about his surroundings the filled the background of his conscious mind, so it was unnerving when it all suddenly became more muted.He wasn’t sure what was going on here yet, only that the insistent tingle at the base of his spine told him something here needed his attention. He just wasn’t sure which side he was supposed to be on yet.





	1. 1. Peter

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, im a bit rusty so please be kind.

Peter was used to the constant low-level buzz of the spider senses, an endless layered feed of granular information about his surroundings the filled the background of his conscious mind, so it was unnerving when it all suddenly became more muted. They weren’t  _ gone. _ He could still smell the hot-dog cart two streets over and the waft of stale cigarette smoke from the alley outside, but everything was just a touch quieter than usual.

 

He blinked, but continued on his way, ducking through a high window into the darkened warehouse. He wasn’t sure what was going on here yet, only that the insistent tingle at the base of his spine told him something here needed his attention. He just wasn’t sure which side he was supposed to be on yet.

 

The fight below seemed to be one guy in head to toe red and black leather against fifteen or twenty guys in cheap suits and sunglasses. The guy was holding his own well enough, and Peter could keep track of him easily even while he was bobbing and weaving between the stacked crates and heavy equipment that packed the warehouse floor because he was never silent. He babbled an almost nonsensical string of running commentary and song lyrics as he moved, and the stream of words was almost calming, even if it felt like half a conversation at best.

 

Then the guy took a bullet to his side, somewhere around the collar-bone maybe, and nothing was calming anymore, his senses all screaming together again at full volume, and Peter dropped without thinking. He sent a web around one of the ceiling joists and swung down to kick the suit with the gun square in the chest with enough force to knock the wind out of him. He didn’t stop to check, just grabbed the gun where it was skittering away across the floor and ejected the magazine, throwing both of them in different directions.

 

The guy in red was laughing quietly, rolling his shoulder, and he should really be more hurt than this, right? Peter blinked slowly because now there were right up close, and he could smell the gunpowder and leather and musk, and seeing the neat bullet hole ringed with blood so close to the guy’s clavicle was bothering him more than it should. Yeah, he hated to see anyone get hurt, and yeah, the guy seemed fine now, but the sharp twist of  _ wrong/bad/fixit _ in his gut was new and intense. His instincts were screaming at him to web the guy up and pull him out to safety, and he didn’t know what to do with them.

 

The blur of motion in the corner of his eye pulled him out of it, spider senses screaming to life again. He ducked the bullet and webbed the suit in the face with one smooth movement. He kicked away the gun and took another out with a low leg sweep. He could feel the guy in red standing still behind him, so he just kept going, half of his attention on the fight and half on keeping track of the guy behind him.

 

It wasn’t a difficult fight, and he couldn’t remember most of it once he’d finally gathered the last of the suits and webbed them all up in the corner. Everyone seemed to still be breathing though, so he counted it as a win. He’d think about the strange blankness and hyperfocus later. Right now he was focused on the guy in red, who should probably seem more threatening than he did. He was big for one, not fat just huge. He also had honest to god swords strapped to his back, and a heavy gun in his free hand, hanging by his side. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t talking anymore, and the sense of  _ wrong/bad/fixit _ was back, humming loudly at the back of his mind. The guy just stared at Peter blankly.

 

There was something… familiar about him, like a word on the tip of Peter’s tongue, and it was frustrating, but another thing he couldn’t think about right now. Instead, he raised his hands in front of him, trying to be as non-threatening as possible, and edged towards the guy.

 

“Hey, are you okay? You wanna tell me what was going on here?” Peter kept his voice as steady and authoritative as possible, the practiced Spider-Man™ voice. The guy blinked slowly, his mouth slack, and it was a bit unnerving that Peter could tell that through his mask. He was struck with the sudden urge to go take the guy’s mask off because it wasn’t fair, but he could see the gun still hanging there, and he wanted to avoid any sudden movements.

 

“S-spidey?” Peter froze in place, cocking his head to the side slightly. This guy was way too big and intimidating to talk in that tone, like a little kid, full of doubt and awe. Peter tried to nod smoothly, he had no idea how it came across. “Am I dreaming right now? It kinda feels like I’m dreaming right now.” The guy frowned slightly, eyeing Peter.

 

“Though, if this was a dream, I’m pretty sure one of us would be a lot more naked by now. Ooooh, or  _ both _ of us. I vote for both of us.”

 

Peter held in a grimace that felt more like a smile and nodded. He was glad his own mask was a lot less expressive suddenly.

 

“No, not a dream, and I don’t think either of us is getting naked. It’s me, your actual friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, just out here fighting some crime.” Peter looked from the guy to the pile of webbed up suits briefly, then shrugged a little, letting his hands drop slowly. “At least, I think I’m fighting crime? It was kinda a shot in the dark if we’re being honest. I hope I picked the right side. You’re... not some kind of evil-doer, are you?” The guy made a theatrically disappointed face and shoved the gun back into a holster on his leg. It wasn’t out of reach, but at least it was put away, and Peter suddenly realized he hadn’t actually been all that aware of the weapon, he’d gotten absolutely nothing from his senses about it which was both comforting and terrifying.

 

“Nope.” The guy popped the P, rolling his shoulder in a way that made Peter wince internally. He could see the bullet hole in the guy’s costume, see the spotting of blood around it, so that should have been a painful injury. He held back the urge to drag the guy to a hospital, both because he didn’t seem to need it and because he still wasn’t sure what was going on. No quick movements.

 

“Definitely not an evildoer, at least not tonight. This is one hundo percent good, Spidey. I swear. These guys are bad guys. Well, henchmen, I guess, but still on the naughty list.” The guy shrugged. He was rambling again, and that was oddly calming. He cocked his head, like he was listening to something, then looked a little shocked. “Of course, sorry. I’m Deadpool, Wade Wilson if you’re nasty, and  _ god _ I hope you’re nasty.”

 

The guy, Deadpool— Wade?  _ No _ , Deadpool —stepped forwards, not exactly slow, but smooth and careful. Peter set his feet firmly, trying to look strong and sure. He still wasn’t sensing danger from the guy, all he was sensing was the slight tug forwards towards him, the tingling draw at the base of his spine that had gotten him here. His instincts told him he wasn’t in danger, and he always trusted his instincts.

 

“And before you start with the lecture, I promise I’ll be out of your hair soon. I’m here for work, just one quick job and I’m gone, scout’s honor.” Deadpool sounded less excitable now, and he was still moving closer. They were close enough now that Peter could feel the heat of his body with his enhanced senses. He could reach out and touch Deadpool if he wanted to, and it was odd that he really did want to. He kept his hands still at his sides. “The guy I’m here for is bad news, like right at the top of the naughty list. Definitely one of those evil doers.” Peter bit his lip behind the mask, spine straightening a bit.

 

“Who is it? How can I help?” He tried not to sound overenthusiastic. Deadpool just shook his head slowly.

 

“Spidey, sugar bear, not that you didn’t do me a solid here tonight— which was  _ amazing _ by the way, thank you so much —but this isn’t something you need to worry about. I promise I can handle it all by myself. You just concentrate on you, okay?” Peter opened his mouth to argue, eyes narrowed, because he was a superhero, and a grownup, and he was perfectly capable. He caught the reflecting of blue and red flashing lights on the ceiling though, heard the rumble of engines pulling up outside, which meant it was time to go. Deadpool turned to look and smiled ruefully.

 

“This is where we say goodnight, I think. It’s been tremendously fun, but I gotta go. Don’t worry, I’ll show myself out. Have fun, and take care of yourself baby boy.” Deadpool’s voice was low and gravelly at the end there, and the buzzing pull at the base of Peter’s spine was a warm answering purr as Deadpool stepped back into the shadows. He forced himself to blink in back, swallowing against his suddenly dry mouth. He gave himself exactly ten seconds to enjoy it before webbing himself back up to the rafters.

 

He stuck to the edges of the roof, staying around until the police loaded the last of the suits into the cruisers, along with a surprising amount of drugs and weapons pulled out of the offices along the warehouse’s back wall. He didn’t see Deadpool again, so he must have gotten away safely.

 

* * *

 

Peter felt for the pull after that, and it was there but it was more like background noise than distress so he ignored it as much as he could. He needed to be Peter Parker during the day. He couldn’t be Spider-Man all the time, not if he wanted to graduate  _ and _ keep the internship Mr.Stark had given him without feeling like a fraud. The pull never quite went away though, like a comforting presence in the back of his mind. It was odd, and a little distracting, but still nice.

 

It ramped up as the sun slowly went down though, and Peter was starting to get a bit edgy by the time he left Stark Industries, and he’d only stopped by home for long enough to mumble something about going somewhere with Ned before he was changed and out the door again. It was a lot easier to burn off the restless energy when he could scamper from rooftop to rooftop. He still stopped a few petty crimes, there wasn’t much going on that night, before the pull brought him to Deadpool again.

 

There was only one guy left when he got there this time, and the scene was a little bloody but he made himself stick to the shadows, just watching. Deadpool clearly didn’t need his help, and Peter knew he’d get in the way. He’d probably even get a bit preachy when things calmed down, and Peter was fairly sure this guy would  _ not _ sit through a lecture about non-violent heroism. Deadpool had said these were bad men, and for whatever reason Peter’s instincts told him to trust him. So he did, sitting firmly down on the rooftop across the street, sticking to the shadows between the roof access and the silent air conditioning unit,

 

Watching the fight was equal parts terrifying and mesmerizing. Deadpool moved too quickly and fluidly for his size, and he never stopped talking while he bounced around. The last guy standing wasn’t as quick, but he was holding his own even if he was breathing hard, obviously flagging a bit.

 

But then, somehow, when Deadpool had the guy down— and Peter was definitely enjoying watching Deadpool stalk towards the asshole with a drawn sword and an almost maniacal grin more than he’d like to admit —something happened. Gunshots rang out, and there was a blur of motion, and all Peter’s spider senses  _ screamed _ to life at the same time. He scrambled to his feet, but his fingers were sticking to things like when he was just starting out, his body running hot and cold with pure  _ panic _ .

 

He watched with wide eyes and a barely suppressed scream, as Deadpool teetered on the roof’s edge for a moment, clutching at his chest with wide eyes. Then he went over, plummeting like a graceless stone towards the alley below. Peter heard him hit and rushed over the see the blood pooling around him against the concrete. Peter felt like he might be sick.

 

There was absolutely no finesse in the way Peter swung over, but he had surprise on his side, and the asshole was already down. Webbing him to the roof wasn’t difficult, kicking the gun away and webbing that down too. He webbed him in the face too, just for good measure and a little bit of spite. He made sure the guy was secure though, because he didn’t want to have to come back up here.

 

Then he jumped over, caught himself about halfway down with a web, and slid to the alley below. He landed less gracefully than usual, wincing at the impact, but… Deadpool wasn’t there. He wasn’t where Peter had seen him from the rooftop, though the smear of blood was still there dark against the concrete. Peter looked around, shoving the dumpster aside, even lifting it up so he could check underneath. He found  _ nothing _ . No Deadpool at all.

 

It didn’t make any sense, and he couldn’t think clearly about it when all of his senses were screaming at him to  _ find Wade right now _ . Peter had seen Deadpool fall, seen him on the ground bleeding. It was a fall that should have killed him, but he was somehow still just gone.

 

Peter stared at the ground until he was sure he’d be sick if he stayed here for another second, the smell of garbage and fresh blood curling around him. He turned and climbed back up the building. At least he could interrogate the asshole on the roof, and maybe he’d be able to make sense of things then.

 

But when he got there, the guy was gone. The gun was still there, webbed down by the roof access door, but only the roughly cut edges of webbing remained where he’d taken down the baddie. Peter let himself yell at that, kicking the edge of the roof as hard as he could, sending a spray of crumbled brick and dust raining into the empty alley below.

 

The adrenaline melted away, leaving him exhausted and confused, the screaming pull finally fading to a quiet rumble. His eyes fell on something small and rectangular, stuck to the edge of the remnants of his webbing. He grabbed it, staring dumbly down at the business card.  **Deadpool, Gun for Hire** , then a telephone number with an unfamiliar area code, and an email address with an unfamiliar domain name.

 

Peter fiddled with the edge of it, rasping the thin cardstock against the material of his thumb. He flipped it over, and there was something scribbled hastily on the back, along with a smear of blood.

 

_ Thanks for the help, baby boy! I pinky promise I’ll be out of your city soon, just a few loose ends to tie up! XOXO _

 

Peter smiled, but it didn’t quite feel right on his face. He tucked the card into his pocket and decided maybe it was time to head home for the night.

 

* * *

 

Peter had some… questions, after the not-quite-death he witnessed. The business card was stuck to the bulletin board above his desk, and he thought about just calling the number, but he couldn’t make himself actually dial it. What would he even say? How could he explain this weird fixation with Deadpool without coming off as some sort of strange stalker? And how did you politely ask someone why they weren’t dead when they absolutely should have been, after a fall like that.

 

No, instead, Peter did something infinitely easier. Peter did research. It took the better part of his Saturday, slouched in front of the computer, but he did find out a few key details. For one, Deadpool was definitely an actual mercenary, who definitely actually killed people on a regular basis. That… wasn’t great. It wasn’t new information, but he didn’t like reading it plainly spelled out either.

 

But it also seemed like Deadpool had a pattern to the jobs he took. He had standards, he helped people, and only seemed to take big jobs that would do some good. At least, that was the impression he got from what he’d read. It didn’t excuse the killing, or the other shady dealings it seemed like Deadpool got up to, but it was something.

 

Still, it’s not quite enough, so Peter decided he should just go ask. He still couldn’t bring himself to call the number on the business card. Still, he had access— in a limited fashion —to a massive intelligence gathering operation, through the Avengers. He knew they wouldn’t tell him everything, not if it wasn’t  _ mission critical _ or whatever, but he could probably get some more useful information if he played his cards right.

 

So he headed over to Stark tower to talk to an Avenger. It’s not like he hasn’t been there before. He was there most days for the internship. He even went to the Avenger’s floors occasionally. He’d be fine, he knew FRIDAY would let him in without issue— Mr.Stark had promised him that one more than one occasion.

 

He still needed the costume though. It was easier as Spider-Man. So he changed, then he swung over, and went it through the helipad doors on the roof. FRIDAY did, in fact, let him go right down without a problem, even at three in the afternoon on a day when he didn’t really have a good excuse for showing up.

 

The main Avenger’s floor was empty, save for Clint, who was camped out in front of the giant television playing a video game that Peter didn’t recognize. He vaulted over the back of the couch— Spider-Man liked to make an entrance —so that he could flop heavily down next to Clint, who jumped, fumbling the controller without dropping it. He made sure to grin wide enough that Clint could see it through the mask.

 

“What the  _ fuck _ dude! Hey, shouldn't you be in  _ school _ or something?” He didn’t really sound angry though, so Peter just shrugged, swinging his feet up onto the coffee table. Clint’s character was just queuing up for a new match, waiting for the other players to get ready. Peter just watched as the round began, took the opportunity to figure out how to ask what he wanted to ask without sounding strange.

 

“I need a little help. Just information I guess, a little background on someone I keep running across. I don’t know if it’s an issue, but it could be.” Clint nodded, his character sneaking through a thick copse of trees.

 

“I’ll see what I can do. Who is it?” Then, a bit more quietly and without looking away from the screen. “You can ask for help if you need it. Like, I know you can handle your shit on your own, you’re  _ capable _ . But you don’t, like,  _ have to _ . You know?” He makes a break into some sort of a structure, his character kneeling down next to a generator.

 

“We’re here if you want help.” Peter smiled softly.

 

“Thanks, Clint. I mean it. It, uh… it means a lot. All I need is a little information for now. I don’t know what you are and aren’t allowed to actually tell me, but I’ll take what I can get.” Clint nodded, staring into the screen, running away from the generator now.

 

“Well, shoot I guess. Who does Spidey need dirt on?” He said it with a grin in his voice, and Peter shifted into the couch, sinking down into the cushions even more.

 

“It’s uh… there’s this…  _ guy _ , he keeps showing up on patrol. He’s not, like, fighting me or anything, I just keep running across him.” Peter stared at the screen, trying to focus on keeping the words slow and steady. He can feel the fucking pull boiling up at the back of his head even just talking about Wade, and he’s frustrated. “He’s been mostly cool, I guess. He has powers, so a mutant maybe? I don’t know what all they are, but he heals super fast at least.”

 

Clint nodded, still focused on the screen. His character is running again, weaving through trees. Then he finds another of those generators.

 

“Okay, a mutant. If I can’t think of anything, I can run it by some other people.” His eyes twitched up to Peter for a moment, before he snapped them back to the screen. “I’ll keep it on the DL though. Any other distinguishing information? He wearing a costume?” Peter bit his lip. His mouth was suddenly dry, and he had to swallow before continuing.

 

“Yeah, his name is Deadpool. Real name…” Peter paused, caught himself. Was that too much? He wasn’t sure how much to put out on the table. This whole situation made him feel odd, and the last thing he wanted was any of this getting back to Tony. He’d take the suit away again in a heartbeat if he thought Peter was compromised. “Uh, Wade I think? Maybe?”

 

When Peter looked again, Clint was eyeing him carefully, not watching the screen anymore. He tensed, ready to get the fuck out of there, but Clint just dipped his head, and let out a low whistle.

 

“Deadpool? He’s kinda dangerous, kid.” Then, before Peter can snap back that he’s not a  _ fucking kid _ , Clint continues.

 

“His real name is Wade Wilson. He’s a mercenary, a contract killer, with a confirmed kill list longer than mine, maybe even Nat’s. He’s more than proficient with multiple fighting styles; blades, guns, a few hand to hand styles. He’s worked with both SHIELD and the X-Men when the price was right.” Clint recited the information like he was reading something; like this was Wade’s dossier and he was prepping Peter for a mission.

 

“His mutation is accelerated healing, everything else is all him. He can heal anything up to and including death. We believe his mutation is forced, not naturally occurring. Probably through an organization we believe to be gone called Weapon X. From what I’ve heard from  _ non-official _ sources, the process they used was not… it probably wasn’t pleasant. Like, torture, torture and more torture. It’s no wonder he’s a little… unstable, I guess?”

 

Peter shifted uncomfortably at that revelation. That was not something he wanted to think about, and that same sudden burst of  _ wrong/bad/fixit _ thrummed through him again. He took a deep breath, glad when Clint swore quietly, his attention back to the game as he ran through the woods. Peter wasn’t entirely sure, but that might have been a large woman in a rabbit mask chasing him.

 

Clint waited until he’d gotten away, his character hidden in some sort of ramshackle looking structure, before he eyed Peter again. Peter stared at the screen, avoiding eye contact, hiding his hands in the pillows so Clint couldn’t see the white-knuckled fists.

 

“Hey, dude,” He said it quietly, but Peter could hear it just fine, “If you’re caught up in something, just… I know you can take care of yourself, and I know you have Stark on speed-dial, but we’ve  _ all _ got your back, alright?”

 

Peter nodded, forcing himself to relax. He did know that. “Yeah, thanks, dude. I know. I think I’ll be fine. I just keep crossing paths with him on patrol.” He shifted, looking at the carpet. “He said he’s on his way out of town anyway, just finishing up a job. Then he’ll be gone, out of New York.” He tries hard not to sound sad about that. He was pretty sure he did okay until he saw the side eye Clint was giving him. He slumped forward a little. “That’s what he said. He said he was gonna be gone super soon.” Clint didn’t look convinced.

 

“Yeah, just be careful, okay?” Clint was looking at the screen again, but Peter was sure his attention wasn’t on the game. “I’m serious. Deadpool isn’t evil, I’ve worked with him before, but he is unstable. He’s dangerous. Hopefully, he was telling the truth and he’ll be gone soon, for everyone’s sake. I’d just recommend staying out of his way until then, I know  _ I _ will.”

 

Clint leaned in, suddenly intent on his character running along  the edge of a wall, and Peter nodded. He took that as an opening and headed out.

 

* * *

 

Peter didn’t look for Deadpool after that. He needed time to think about everything, to process it. He still felt the pull, an insistent burst of white noise at the back of his mind  _ all the time _ now, but he did his best to ignore it.

 

Because Deadpool didn’t need his help. All the jokes and flirting and flattery aside, Deadpool was a grownup who  _ didn’t need his help _ .

 

And, because Clint said he was dangerous. Yeah, Deadpool had worked with the good guys before, but he clearly had negotiable morals. He was a mercenary and a loose cannon. Deadpool may not be evil, but he didn’t seem like he was really  _ good _ either.

 

And, because Deadpool said he’d be gone soon. Deadpool said he was just finishing up one job and he’d be out of New York. Why should he put the time and energy into pushing at this when the problem would be gone soon.

 

Peter ignored it because the problem will sort itself out soon, all on its own. So he waited. Peter went to school, he went to his internship, he patrolled the city at night carefully avoiding the source of the  _ want _ .

 

He ignored it and hoped it would just go away.

 

Then it did. And it didn’t.


	2. 2. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter mada a decision, and he didn't plan to go back on it. Peter hurts. Then, Peter goes to find Wade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm rusty, please be kind

Peter had made a decision, and he didn't plan to go back on it. He pointedly avoided the pull while he was patrolling that night, focused on being Spider-Man. He helped some kids get a basketball off a roof, stopped a few petty crimes, and even posed for a few selfies with drunk tourists. The pull was mostly quiet now that he was used to it, a warm hum in the back of his head that never really settled down. He caught himself leaning into it more than once when he stopped focusing, but he pulled away. It had helped both the restless sensation and his burning curiosity that Deadpool had stayed relatively still.

 

It was later— much later, he should be home in bed by now, but he never got enough sleep on a normal day and his life wasn't feeling very normal right then —that Peter realized the pull had moved. It was suddenly not leading to the specific cluster of buildings he'd been carefully avoiding all night. He let himself swing by on his way home, anxious to quell at least some of the desire to go there even if he knew it wouldn't make it go away.

 

The small warm creature that was the pull exploded to life inside of him when he spotted them, hidden behind an HVAC unit on the rooftop, and he didn't bother trying to avoid it. His spider senses would tell him if there was danger there, though what could be dangerous about the small bundles of bright red was beyond him.

 

They were  _ plushies _ ; a little dirty from the rooftop and a little damp from the gathering dew— he should  _ really _ go to bed —but they were still vibrant. He smiled as he reached down to pick one up. One of them was a plump little version of  _ him _ — well, Spider-Man —with large white eyes and adorable stubby arms and legs. The other was a matching version of Deadpool. He almost missed the manilla envelope beneath them in his joy, but he scooped that up as well, reading the words scrawled across it in sharpie.

 

_ Hey Spider-Babe! I hope you find this because I tried to track you down but you're hard to get ahold of when you don't wanna be found I guess. I'm on my way out of town, just wanted to let you know I'll be gone in the morning. I also wanted to pass some stuff along, just something I ran across while I was here that I thought would be relevant to your good guy interests. Let me know if you want help, I'll come back anytime baby boy! XOXO _

 

Then a phone number, Peter recognized the pattern as a cell phone, the number assigned locally but probably the kind you bought at 7-11. A burner phone. Peter felt the warmth settle hot in his stomach, the pull purring loudly in the back of his head. He opened the envelope with shaking hands. There were two photos inside, the same older man in sunglasses in both, and a thumb drive. He blinked but tucked them back away before heading home, much lighter than before.

 

And if he slept soundly that night, with both plushies cuddled firmly in his arms, no one had to know.

 

* * *

 

Peter threw himself into investigating the evidence Wade— no  _ Deadpool _ —had left him the next afternoon. That he could absolutely throw himself behind. This wasn't something he could feel conflicted about because there was a good and a bad side, it was clear cut, and this man was  _ bad _ .

 

The flash drive had tons of information and most of that first afternoon had been spent just getting his mind around it, assessing the scope of what he'd been given. This asshole was a human trafficker, and Peter had everything he needed right here to send the creep to jail, including a few highlighted opportunities in the near future to actually take him down.

 

Yeah, he did spend some time the next evening or two verifying the information and doing his own surveillance, but everything in that envelope had been legitimate. Wade had passed him good intel. He was still riding the high of that when he swept in two nights later and executed the plan.

 

And if he slept with that Deadpool plush every night, no one was there to see.

 

* * *

 

He was on patrol when he noticed it, because of  _ course _ he was. He'd already had a headache that bordered on a migraine for most of the day warring with the constant complaint of unfulfilled desire in the back of his head. It wasn't really a pull anymore, probably because Wade was  _ gone _ now, just an aching clawing hole in his core. At least it was late enough in the evening that he could start heading home when the nausea started.

 

He dropped to the street about two blocks out, taking a moment to lean against the wall and just breathe. His hands felt weak, and his aim was off. He was going to crash into something at this rate so he stopped for long enough to change in an alley and make the rest of the journey on foot.

 

May didn't question where he was and what he'd been doing out so late. She rose from the couch and put a cool hand to his forehead though. She looked worried, but Peter mumbled something about sleep and headed off to bed.

 

He didn't get much sleep. He tossed and turned, watching the headlights of passing cars and the glow of the streetlights fade into morning. He forced himself up out of bed, and into the shower. He had class this morning, then his internship. He didn't have time for this. He'd get over it, because he  _ had to _ .

 

May met him at the breakfast table.

 

"Peter, honey, if you're not feeling well, maybe you should stay home today." Peter smiled and shook his head.

 

"No, I just stayed out too late. I have a test today, can't miss it."  _ lie _ , "I'll be fine, I'll grab some coffee on campus." She didn't look convinced. He slumped a little but put on a brave face. "I'll come home if I feel sick, I  _ promise _ ."

 

She didn't try to stop him as he crossed to the door.

 

"Have a good day, Aunt May." He closed the door behind him on her answer.

 

* * *

 

Peter felt like he'd hit rock bottom when finally worked up the nerve to call the number Wade left him. He was perched at his desk, hands shaking, and it took a few tries before he put the number incorrectly.

 

A cheerful robotic voice informed him that the number he was calling was no longer in service. He stared at the wall, checked the number written on the envelope against the number on his phone. They matched, but he tried again because  _ this fucking had to work _ , this was the only thing he had left. The same voice came on, and Peter lost it.

 

He dropped the phone, fingers suddenly numb. His teeth were clenched tightly, and he stood up without thinking, the chair clattering to the ground behind him. He brought both hands up to cover his face, smothering the urge to scream. Then, after a shaking breath, he brought his hands down hard on the desk in front of him. The fiberboard desktop buckled on impact, the legs splaying out like broken bones and all the neatly arranged pieces of his life he'd set carefully on top spilled out across the floor.

 

He stared at the mess blankly for a moment. His breath was heavy and ragged, his mind suddenly blank except for the clawing emptiness licking down his spine. What was the point of  _ any _ of this?

 

He whirled around, nervous energy swirling up inside of him, and kicked out at the back foot of the bed. The wood splintered, and the whole things listed towards him. He grabbed under the edge and flipped it, sending pillows and blankets tumbling. 

 

He went to step over — to the door maybe? He wasn't sure —but his ankle caught in the edge of the comforter, and he went sprawling instead.

 

He tried to catch himself instinctively, arms in front, and he caught the majority of his weight on his right wrist. He felt the shock of pain as it twisted oddly underneath him. He screamed an obscenity into his other arm and the thin twist of the sheets beneath him on the floor.

 

Suddenly, he realized, he was crying. He couldn't see anything but rough shapes through the blur of tears. He scrubbed at his face ineffectively with his good hand, shifting his weight onto his arm.

 

He could see the Deadpool plushie on the floor in front of him. He lay flat and stretched his arm, but he couldn't quite reach it, fingers just barely grazing the end of its stubby little leg. He didn't have the energy of anything else right then, moving didn't fucking matter, so he just went limp. He didn't fight it, just let himself cry silently.

 

He had no idea how much time passed, only that he'd run out of tears and the tracks had dried stiff and itchy down his cheeks when May got home from work. The sound of the front door opening and closing downstairs was loud in the otherwise silent house. He called for him, but Peter just curled in on himself, wincing as it pulled his wrist.

 

It didn't take her long to find him. She pushed the door open quietly, then froze. Peter couldn't look at her, even as she crouched down next to him, brushing the hair off his forehead gently. He stared resolutely ahead, at the tangle of blankets in front of him.

 

"Peter, baby, are you okay?"

 

_ Baby Boy. _ Peter squeezed his eyes shut against the tears he could feel welling back up in his eyes. May started to pull him into a hug but stopped when he flinched, the movement jarring his wrist. She stayed silent, petting his head for a moment before standing up and leaving.

 

* * *

 

Peter hadn't bothered to argue about the trip to the doctor. He didn't have the energy. He'd answered the nurse's questions as briefly as possible, and she'd put his wrist into a splint. It was a bad sprain, but still not a break. He half listened to her instructions, knowing he'd be healed in a few days. She'd written a prescription for him though, for the pain, and he was hoping that maybe if he doubled up the dose it might knock him out for the night at least. He just wanted to go to sleep. Maybe if he slept for long enough this would all just go away.

 

Mr.Stark was waiting in the lobby when he stepped out of the exam room, next to a guilty looking Aunt May. He smiled at her but didn't question it as Tony led him out to a waiting town car. As soon as they'd pulled away from the curb— Peter's face pressed to the cool window, eyes closed —he spoke.

 

"You look like shit, kid. Wanna tell me what's going on here?" Peter shrugged weakly, not opening his eyes. He honestly didn't know where to start. He just wanted to go to sleep now.

 

"Well, let's start with what I know then. May says you've been insufferably teenaged for the past week or two. Sullen, tired, barely eating anything. She's worried it's drugs by the way, but I know that's not it." Peter blinked bleary eyes, staring out at the city. Now he felt guilty on top of everything else. He hadn't wanted to worry his aunt, she didn't deserve any of this. Tony eyed him before continuing.

 

"I'm worried about what it  _ could _ be though. I have a clinic at the tower, for the Avengers mostly, and I want to bring you in for some tests. Everything will be done in house, the data will be anonymized, and nothing will leave the building. We have to make sure this isn't some sort of secondary mutation, okay?"

 

Tony sounded sincere, and Peter knew he wouldn't let this go. He wanted to argue on principle, just to be contrary, because part of his mind just wanted to  _ fight _ . He didn't have the energy. He just shrugged again and closed his eyes as the tower approached.

 

"Fine, whatever. I just… I want to sleep. I haven't gotten more than an hour or two of sleep at a time in… I don't know. It's been rough."

 

"Sure Pete." Tony was radiating quiet concern, and the need to fix. Peter hoped he could. "One quick blood test, a scan or two, and then we'll set you up for a long nap. I'll let your aunt know when we get upstairs."

 

Peter tried for a grateful smile but felt like it missed the mark completely.

 

* * *

 

Peter slept like the dead once Stark's doctor had finished fussing over him and finally gave him some meds. He was still exhausted when he woke though. There was sunlight streaming in through the window in whatever spare bedroom he'd been led to, and he wasn't sure if it was morning or evening. He had no idea how long he'd slept for. He hoped he hadn't missed any more classes.

 

"Are you awake, Mr.Parker?" FRIDAY was quiet, and Peter considered closing his eyes again and pretending he was still asleep. He didn't though, rolling onto his back and stretching.

 

"Yeah, I'm awake." He mumbled it, voice cracking a bit.

 

"Ms.Romanova is here to see you. May I let her in?" Peter made a noise that could be taken as a yes and maybe FRIDAY was just being polite when they asked because the door opened a few seconds later. Natasha was dressed far more casually than usual, even out of uniform. She approached cautiously like Peter was a time bomb waiting to explode, and Peter chuckled at that thought.

 

"Hey Pete, how are you feeling?" Peter appreciated that she didn't call him kid like the rest of the Avengers. He wiggled into a sitting position, weakly pushing at the pillows until they were stacked up behind him. She didn't move to help him, which he was also grateful for. Once he was mostly upright, and sweating from even that bit of exertion, he shrugged.

 

"I've been better. I got some sleep at least." His voice cracked as he spoke, and Natasha offered him the water bottle she was carrying. He took it gratefully.

 

"Peter, I have some questions for you. Are you up for that?" Her voice was almost obnoxiously soft, but Peter took a deep breath and nodded. He wanted to go back to sleep, but he knew he'd have to talk to her first, then the doctor again. She pulled a chair up beside the bed, sitting sideways so she could lean her arm against the back. "What do you know about Sentinels?"

 

Peter eyed her suspiciously—  _ because what kind of a question was that? _ —but no, she was serious. He shrugged.

 

"I dunno, some stuff I guess. I'm not really sure what's real and what's…" He trailed off, trying to find a polite way to say Hallmark movie, romance novel bullshit that didn't make him sound like an idiot. She waved a hand, nodding, and he floundered. "The Sentinel and the Guide are… uh, it's like… soulmates I guess? Like two people who, I dunno, balance each other?" Natasha nodded, studying him, and Peter's hands bunched up in the blankets, resisting the urge to pull them over his head and hide. He licks his lips and continues.

 

"I know it's a real thing, or it  _ was _ , but it's not… common anymore. Right?" Natasha nodded again and thankfully took over.

 

"Correct, it's become rare in the general population. It's far more common in people with mutations though, especially those with altered genetics." Peter stared out the window, feeling exhausted and stupid. He knew what she was saying, but didn't quite grasp the implications. "I think you have a partial bond, Peter. I think you're a Sentinel, and I think you've found your Guide. You probably  _ know _ who it is, you've probably felt it."

 

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, and nodded.

 

"Good, that's a relief at least. I don't need to know who if you don't want to tell me. I have an idea, but it's not really my business. It's not anyone's business but yours. You need to find them though, and complete the bond." Peter nodded again.

 

"I want to be clear." Her voice was colder now, and Peter blinked up at her. "You don't need to stay together if that's not what you want. This isn't a shackle you have to bear. There are medical interventions we can take if the situation isn't ideal. If the bonding becomes difficult for you, we can find a solution to that problem."

 

The hum at the back of his mind roared to life, dark and clawing, and he narrowed his eyes at her. He was  _ fairly certain _ that Natasha had just offered to beat up Wade for him. On one hand, it was probably a fairly innocent offer, given Deadpool's reputation, but Peter didn't have to  _ like _ it. He knew Wade could protect himself, but that didn't change the instinctual desire to protect him. Natasha relaxed, smile warm again.

 

"Calm down, no one's coming for your boyfriend. That offer is between you and me, your bond is still legally protected. If the two of you are on good terms, the rest of us will stay out of the way. Now, do you know where he is, or should I have SHEILD pull him in?"

 

Peter considered it. He was exhausted, and his wrist was still sore. The nausea was gone, for the most part, but he still felt unsteady. He also had a feeling Wade really  _ would not appreciate _ being hauled in by SHIELD.

 

"What's this like for W- I mean, for guides? Is it this hard for them?" It came out quiet, almost somber. The  _ is he suffering like I am _ went unsaid, but he knew Natasha must have heard it.

 

"I don't have as much experience with the Guide side of things, but they go through something similar, yes." Natasha said, "Your Guide is not having fun right now. The fact that he's not  _ here _ may mean he hasn't identified the bond, or he could be in denial. I've read his psych profile, and I think it's safe to say he's not thriving at the moment." Peter nodded, turning the information over in his mind.

 

"I don't know where he is, but I'd like to go to him if I can." Peter tried to sound resolute and felt like he mostly pulled it off. Natasha leaned forward, putting a hand on the bedspread.

 

"I'll see what I can do." She smiled around the words, and Peter relaxed. "Try to get some sleep then, I'll come back tomorrow."

 

* * *

 

Peter called the other number on the card. He waited until a reasonable hour of the day, and he called. A tired-sounding man answered the phone, and Peter let him get through most of his sentence— he wasn't  _ listening _ to it, but he let the man say it anyway —before he interrupted.

 

"I need to contact Deadpool." His voice shook a little, but he mostly sounded firm. The guy stopped talking.

 

"Deadpool isn't taking any jobs right now. He's on a… sabbatical? Give me the details, and I can match the job with someone else." The guy sounded bored, and Peter fisted the bedspread tightly.

 

"No, I don't have a job for him, I just need to talk to Deadpool. Can you-" The guy cut Peter off, sounding less bored now.

 

"Deadpool isn't available." Peter wanted to scream.

 

" _ Please? _ I need to talk to him. Can you give me any sort of contact information?" Peter knew he sounded halfway between desperate and angry at this point, but he wasn't yelling. That was a plus.

 

"No. He's not available. You can call back in a few weeks, maybe he'll have his shit sorted out by then. Now, if you have a job I can help you, otherwise, I can't." His tone was firm, and Peter could feel tears prickling at his eyes again. He'd never cried this often in his whole life.

 

"Just… If Wade is around, can you give him a message for me?" The guy didn't cut him off again, which was progress.

 

"Look, kid, Wade has some shit to sort out. I told him not to come back to the Hellhouse until he fixes it, but he's… around." Peter mumbled a thank you and hung up, dropping the phone. He had an address for the Hellhouse at least, and that was something.

 

* * *

 

Peter slept on the plane, in fits and starts, with Natasha next to him flipping through an issue of Cosmopolitan she'd shoplifted in the airport. They were in first class— Natasha had produced a Stark Industries black card in Peter's name with a grin —and the seats were huge and comfortable. Every time he'd woken up Natasha had forced him to drink a bit of water, though he'd refused the crackers and nuts she'd tried to foist on him. His stomach was tied in nervous knots.

 

What if Wade didn't want to see him? What if he turned away and told him to go to hell? He'd been very obviously avoiding Wade during his time in New York, and the note on the envelope had made it clear that Wade had noticed. He wasn't sure he'd survive Wade outright rejecting him. He wasn't sure he'd survive Natasha forcing Wade to accommodate him either.

 

The almost fugue state he'd been living in for the last however long got better when they landed in Chicago; the clawing dark roar climbing up his spine resolved back into a pull. It was more insistent than before, but it was a pull again. His anxiety about finding Wade was lessened by that at least.

 

There was a car waiting by the curb outside, a smartly dressed man with a sign printed with Peter's name. Peter rattled the address off from memory, and then collapsed against the back window, staring blankly at the passing scenery as the anxiety warred with the pull in his head. They slowed in a rough neighborhood, though what he'd expected from some place called the Hellhouse was beyond him.

 

The building itself, while it had definitely seen better days, was nicer than he'd imagined. It was large and made of stone, an old school building. There was an old brass plaque by the front entrance that proclaimed it  _ Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Children _ .

 

Standing outside, Peter almost wanted to run. Maybe he couldn't do this after all. He didn't have a clue what he was going to say, how he was going to explain  _ any  _ of this. Wade hadn't come back, what if he didn’t want this?

 

Natasha touched him lightly, one hand low on his back, and guided them both to the door. He was infinitely glad that she'd taken this on like a mission, because the guy behind the bar inside looked at them both like they don't belong there and Peter was sure they'd be kicked out before they got the chance to ask anything. Natasha just glared at the man, moving both of them forward until she could lean over the bar, and Peter could half collapse onto a stool. She laid a calming hand on Peter's back.

 

"Where can I find Wade Wilson?" She sounded polite but firm. The guy smiled nervously, but he had the distinct impression that a lot of this guy's smiles were nervous.

 

"Deadpool isn't taking any jobs right now. If you need his services, I can refer you to someone else capable." He sounded firm, but Peter wasn't really listening. He laid his head on his crossed arms on the bar-top. Wade had been here recently, and he'd be here again. The pull was calmer now, and Peter had faith in his instincts.

 

"I'm not looking for Deadpool, I'm looking for Wade Wilson." Natasha's voice stayed level, but there was a core of steel. The man snorted.

 

"And I told you, he's not available. He has some shit to sort out." The guy had a spine, and Peter was oddly touched. This guy was loyal to Wade, and that was something.

 

Natasha's hand on his back tensed, and Peter could tell she was ready to show the bartender how serious she was, but she didn’t get the chance. The door opened behind them, and Peter could feel it.

 

"Am I… interrupting something? Because if you guys are having a moment, I can come back later Weasel…" Peter coiled like a fucking spring, tense and liquid in turn. The pull blossomed in his mind, reached out, and he was on his feet without thinking.

 

He faintly heard Natasha mutter  _ oh thank god _ , but he wasn't paying attention because Wade was  _ right there _ , looking awe-struck and gorgeous. Peter hadn't ever seen him out of the Deadpool costume, but he was  _ sure _ . He'd never been so sure of anything in his whole life.

 

He stumbled almost as soon as he'd stood, but it didn't matter, because Wade caught him, and hauled him upright. Everything shifted, the world around them faded to white noise, and he climbed the front of Wade's sweatshirt to wrap his arms tightly around his neck, burying his nose in the curve of Wade's shoulder. He smelled like home, like sweat and gun oil and spice.

 

"Wade, I…" He didn't have any more words than that, didn't know how to finish that sentence. It didn't matter though,  _ nothing _ mattered, because Wade understood at least part of it. He held Peter close, firmly but delicately, like someone in this bar was going to take him away. The thought made him smile because  _ let them fucking try _ .

 

"B-baby boy? How…? What is…" Wade obviously wasn't doing much better with speaking, but that was also fine. They could work that out together. He honestly didn’t think anything could ruin this moment, all he cared about was the sound of Wade's heartbeat, breathing in Wade's scent with every breath, and trying really hard not to cry again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super happy with how this chapter went together, so I may come back to rewrite this later.
> 
> Next we get some of Wade's POV. A tiny bit of back track then forwards we go!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and thanks to everyone who commented on the last chapter! ilu so much!
> 
> As always, criticism is welcome, and if you wanna come scream with me on tumblr im @ursweetheartless 
> 
> <<33


	3. 3. Wade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade has some stuff to work out before he's ready to go find Spidey, and he doesn't do it very well. Spidey tracks him down anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for suicide in this chapter, and for both of them being idiots.
> 
> I promise it gets happier from here.

Wade tossed his duffle into the trunk of the rental car and slammed it shut with more force than was strictly necessary. He was on edge, sue him. It was ass-o-clock in the morning, the sun just beginning to peek above the horizon though you couldn’t see more than a faint glow. He might as well get a head start though, because staying in New York any longer would lead to bad decisions. If Spidey didn’t want to see him, then he’d better get the fuck out of town before he did something stupid.  
  
[Running away from our problems, are we? No wonder he wouldn’t come hang out with you.]  
  
Wade gritted his teeth and started the car. There wasn’t much of any traffic at this hour and, hopefully, he’d be out of the city before rush hour.  
  
{You could have taken care of that on your own, you know? You could have done a good deed without getting paid for it for once.}  
  
Wade stared straight ahead. There was no aux port in the shitty rental car, just a CD player and a satellite radio. He slammed the radio on and cranked the volume up until he could feel it in his teeth. He didn’t have many options, so he worked with what he had. It was a long drive up to Chicago from here— twelve hours, but he could do it in ten if he pushed it —so he’d better get started.  
  


* * *

  
  
By the time he made it to Chicago, he felt hollow and exhausted. He just wanted to sleep for a week, but he’d have to show up at the Hellhouse sooner or later. Not today though.  
  
The safe house was familiar at least, a cold basement apartment with one tiny bedroom and no windows. It felt stiflingly small right now, and it was a fucking mess, but he’d take what he could get.  
  
He took a shower first, standing under the burning hot water until it went cold far too quickly. He pulled on a pair of lounge pants and an oversized sweatshirt from a pile of what he hoped was clean clothes in the bedroom. He flopped face down onto the stiff mattress and laid there for what felt like hours before the gnawing emptiness threatened to consume him.  
  
He got up because he didn’t have many other options.  
  
[You could go back to New York and find Spidey. Stop moping around and man the fuck up.]  
  
{No, if Spidey doesn’t want anything to do with you, just leave him alone. He’s strong, he’ll be fine, even without the bond, and it’s not like _you’re_ going to get any crazier.}  
  
Wade scrubbed at his eyes, stuffed in some earbuds, and got to work cleaning. That was usually a good bet for tiring himself out. Besides, the apartment air was stale, and there were piles of laundry everywhere, and there were flies in the kitchen from the apple he’d forgotten on the counter, now a mushy mess of mold and soft fruit.  
  
He emptied everything questionable out of the refrigerator, which left him with a box of baking soda and three shitty beers. He scrubbed the whole thing, top to bottom. Then he scoured the stove. He made it all the way through the bathroom— now smelling strongly enough of bleach and fake lemon that his eyes were watering —when he gave up on cleaning. It wasn’t helping, and even if he couldn’t hear the boxes over the music blasting in his ears he could tell they were still going.  
  
He took another shower because now he was gross again, and the skin on his hands hurt from the scrubbing, and put on a fresh set of hopefully clean clothes. He pulled on his mask and gloves on his way out, like armor. He needed something to do. He needed a job to keep him busy.  
  


* * *

  
  
The Hellhouse was busy, but there was enough room at the bar for Wade to take the far stool without sitting too close to anyone else. He just slumped there for a moment, trying to balance the horrible clawing loneliness in his chest with the desire not to be near any of these people. He must have looked as bad as he felt because Weasel didn’t come over right away, and when he did he brought Wade a shot he hadn’t ordered.  
  
“What the fuck happened to you? The job wasn’t _that_ hard.” Wade grimaced.  
  
“Complications. I handled it.” He pulled the mask up just enough to knock back the liquor, then pushed the glass back over the Weasel, who was ready with the bottle to fill it up again. “I need a job. Anything.” Weasel shook his head.  
  
“I’ve got nothing for you right now. Take a little R-and-R, looks like you need it.” Weasel slid the shot back over, and Wade pulled a face as he fiddled with it.  
  
“No, what I _need_ is a job. I’m gonna go stir crazy, sitting around here. I need something to do.” Wade said, firmly.   
  
“You’ve been back for less than a day. What you need is a _nap_.” Weasel said, then turned to serve someone on the other end of the bar, leaving Wade to contemplate the liquor. He tossed it back.  
  
[You could always go back to New York and get Spidey. I’m sure you could figure out a way to get him to sit still long enough for some _quality time_ , right?]  
  
{Oh, go die in a fire. If Spidey doesn’t want to see us, we should leave him along. Pushing it right now is only going to make it worse later. We have to wait it out. He’ll come around.}  
  
[Oh? And why the fuck would he do that? He’s not going to just magically change his mind, he’s a hero. He’ll be just as uppity and naive next time.]  
  
{People change and grow if you let them. Maybe we have to be better, prove to him we’re worth it, but he’ll come around. Have some faith.}  
  
[Faith in what? In Spidey? I have absolute faith that he’ll be exactly the same when we go back. If we want something from him, we’re going to have to take it.]  
  
Wade slammed the now empty glass onto the bar with a scowl. He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw hurt.  
  
 _We are not going back to New York, and we are not going to do anything to Spider-Man. That’s non-negotiable._

  
[Ooooo, back to Spider-Man now. What happened to Spidey? What happened to Baby Boy?]  
  
{Nicknames are for friends.}  
  
 _And Spider-Man made it clear we’re not friends. He didn’t want to see us. We’ve got to suck it up and deal with that._

  
Wade flinched when Weasel poked him in the forehead.  
  
“You okay there? Would you mind taking your emotional breakdown somewhere else? You’re scaring the _actual_ customers.” Wade forced a wide smile.  
  
“I’m fine, no breakdown here. I’d be better if I could get a goddamn job though. I’ll seriously take _whatever_ , Weas. I’m not picky, and I’ll work cheap.” He pushed himself to sound upbeat. Weasel wasn’t buying it.  
  
“No. Go home, get shitfaced and cry it out or whatever. Come back when you get your shit together and we’ll talk.”  
  
Wade sighed heavily and heaved himself upright quickly enough that he knocked the stool over.  
  
“Thanks for nothing then. Have a shitty night.” Wade left before Weasel could respond.  
  


* * *

  
  
Wade walked out into the night. It was dark, and it was raining, and that seemed perfect. He stopped on the highway overpass, looking down at the traffic passing beneath him. He took out the phone, the burner he’d picked up in New York. There were no missed calls, not that he’d expected any. He’d picked it up so that he’d have a number he could give Spider-Man, one that would go straight through.   
  
He looked at it for a moment. This was it, the last line he had. If Spider-Man changed his mind…  
  
[Right, like he’d do that. He made his thoughts clear. He’s not going to call, idiot.]   
  
Wade slumped against the guard rail, his hoodie soaked through now. He held the phone over the edge and dropped it. It smashed against the highway below.  
  
 _There, it’s over. We’re done._ It was as final as anything else. It was giving up.  
  
The safe house seemed even smaller and darker when he got back to it. The yawning, gnawing pull in his stomach was louder too. There wasn’t any food in the house, and he’d just managed to get back here, so he absolutely didn’t have the energy to leave again. He’d be fine. He forgot to eat for days at a time when he was working. He could handle one day, he’d eaten a big dinner last night. He’d bought enough to share, but then he’d ended up alone so he couldn’t let it go to waste.  
  
[Thought we weren’t going to think about that anymore? God, you can barely go an hour without it, can you? That’s fucking pathetic, even for you.]  
  
Wade ground his teeth, staring at the living room wall. The paint was peeling in along the ceiling in the corner.  
  
{Come on, Wade. You just have to try harder. We can’t keep doing this. You’ve got to focus.}  
  
Wade flopped down into the recliner. He’d avoided this corner when he was cleaning because there wasn’t much he could do with it. The recliner was soaked with dark red and brown stains, which were echoed on the walls around it. He’d never get them out, even if he scrubbed and bleached. He’d have to repaint. There wasn’t much point in it though.  
  
[Oh sure, run away like you always do. You left New York like a coward, and now this too? I’m glad Spidey can’t see you now.]  
  
Wade reached under the chair, fishing around until he found the familiar cold handle of the gun he kept tucked underneath. He checked the chamber. Only one bullet left, he’d have to reload soon. One was enough though. He’d had practice.  
  
{Wade, you need to-}  
  
Wade brought it up and pulled the trigger. Everything finally went dark, and still, and silent.  
  


* * *

  
  
Wade was headed to the Hellhouse. Weasel was going to be mad at him, but hopefully he wouldn’t kick him out straight away. He’d even sit through the whiny lecture about scaring off customers with his _aura of pure despair_ without making smartass comments. Wade was more than willing to sulk quietly in the corner because if he spent one more second in the safe house alone he was going to curl up for some more quality time in the recliner and then he’d have to move. It wasn’t a great neighborhood, but he still got complaints. Twice in one week and he’d probably get a police escort out.  
  
{Getting out of the house is good. Just move, and don’t push Weasel too much. He’ll cut you some slack.}   
  
Wade was hopeful but realistic.  
  
There was a car idling by the curb when he got there. It wasn’t a taxi either, but one of those sleek black town cars, complete with some douchebag in half a monkey suit behind the wheel. That was… probably bad. The kind of people who had business here were not the kind of people who rode in chauffeured black town cars unless they were rich and dangerous and bad.  
  
[Oh good. Hopefully, there’s trouble. Letting off a little steam would do us some good.]  
  
Wade ducked further into his hoodie, memorizing the license plate quickly as he strode up to the door. He paused to listen in the short hallway. Weasel was arguing with someone. A woman, perfect diction, with the smooth accentless english of rich or well schooled. He pushed the door open, hand itching for the single gun he had holstered to his lower back.  
  
The bar was mostly empty, one regular napping in a corner booth, and the woman arguing with Weasel at the bar. Wade could tell from the way she held herself that she could hold her own when necessary. She’d be a challenge if there was trouble, and the anxious energy bubbling inside of him kind of wanted trouble.  
  
Then he saw the kid, head down on the bar top with an air of utter despair, and he could tell this guy was not alright at _all_. This was a job then, someone who needed help, and that was even better than a fight. Weasel wouldn’t like it, would probably say no, but Wade had already decided he’d do whatever they needed before opening his mouth.  
  
“Am I… interrupting something? Because if you guys are having a moment here, I can come back later.”  
  
He expected the woman to turn her calm menace on him. He expected Weasel to tell him to get the fuck out. He did not expect the kid to sit straight up and turn to stare at him with wide eyes. Wade winced when he caught a good look at the kid’s face— he looked _rough_ —and he did not expect the kid to spring to life, lurching towards him and tumbling through the air. Wade caught him before he hit the ground, and…  
  
Everything shifted. Somehow he knew before the kid had even rasped out his name— not Deadpool, but _Wade_ —that Spidey had come for him somehow, for some reason, and it was all he could process in that moment. It was surreal, like everything else was moving more slowly than them, and all he could do was hold on to Spidey.  
  
“B-baby boy?” Wade struggled with words, trying to figure out the question that would get him the answers he wanted. “How? What is…?” None of it really worked, he couldn’t wrap his head around anything but the deep purring satisfaction as he held Spidey close.   
  
Wade caught movement in his peripheral, the woman edging towards them with her hands up in surrender, and Wade narrowed his eyes. He walked backward slowly, pulling Spider-Man with him. He knew it wasn’t logical, that this woman had brought Spidey here with her, but he wasn’t feeling very logical right now. No one was going to get close enough to take Spidey, _especially_ not when he was clinging to Wade like this.  
  
“Relax Wade, he’s not going anywhere without you. I promise.” Her voice was soft and even, but he could read the practiced negotiation strategy behind it. He cupped the back of Spidey’s head gently, bracketing him in, and took another slow step back. He made sure the door was behind them. He could make a break for it if he needed to. “There’s a hotel room waiting for you two, downtown. It’s quiet and it’s Sentinel safe. The car out front can take the two of you over.”  
  
Spidey was boneless against him, making soft noises into his neck that Wade was sure no one else could hear, breathing deep and slow. Wade considered it. He had the safe house, but the place was still kind of a shit-hole, even with the cleaning he’d done. That, and he was sure there was evidence of his last date with death there, and that was not something he wanted Spidey to see. Not now, when he’d just gotten him. He didn’t like the uncontrolled variables of a plan he’d had no part in though.  
  
“You-” Spidey’s voice cracked, and Wade flinched at the sound, his thumb stroking lightly below Spidey’s ear. Spidey swallowed and cleared his throat. “We’ll be fine. The hotel is fine, everything is Sentinel safe, they’ll leave us alone.” Wade nodded absently, still torn, still keeping an eye on the rest of the room.  
  
“Fine. Sure. Lead the way, Baby Boy.” Spidey made a small noise, gripping Wade around the neck more tightly for a moment, burying his head back into Wade’s neck and breathing deeply. Wade pointedly did not shiver at the sensation, though he did carefully shift his weight so that his hips were very much not pressed against anything. He wanted to avoid the awkward moment where everyone in the room figured out how fucking attractive this was for him.  
  
Spidey stepped back all at once, and his face was puffy, swollen around the eyes like he’d cried for a week and hadn’t slept at all, but he grabbed Wade’s hand firmly. It was a grounding point of contact, as they turned towards the door.  
  
“Hey, Wilson?” It was the woman again, her voice back to hard steel, and they both froze. “If you take advantage of this— of _him_ —I promise you you’ll regret it. I may not be able to kill you-” Wade was waiting until she was done to quip back, but Spidey was suddenly coiled like a spring. He turned around with narrowed eyes.  
  
“Natasha, that’s _enough_!!” Spidey didn’t yell, but there was clearly a threat in there. Wade _did_ shiver at that, because _fuck_. He shifted, willing down the arousal pooling in his stomach. The woman started to step back, but Wade turned away as Spidey pulled them out to the street, and into the back of the waiting car. The driver pulled away as soon as the door was shut, not waiting for a destination.   
  
Spidey sighed heavily, leaning most of his weight on Wade’s side. Wade threw an arm over him, pulling him in close again, and Spidey relaxed.  
  
“Sorry,” Spidey mumbled the words, not looking up. Wade just tightened his hold. “I’m exhausted, and I just wanna go sleep. I was so worried we wouldn’t find you, that you wouldn’t wanna listen.” Wade turned, burying his face in Spidey’s hair for a moment.  
  
“Whatever you need, Baby Boy. I’m here for as long as you need me to be.” Spidey smiled at that, snuggling in a bit.  
  
“It’s Peter.” Spidey looked up at him, licking his lips before he continued. “My name is Peter Parker. Not that I don’t like it when you call me baby boy,” He added quickly, “Don’t stop doing that, _please_ , just… I wanted you to know my name.”  
  
Wade’s breath caught in his throat, as he cupped Peter’s cheek. His skin was smooth and startlingly warm. Wade couldn’t not smile.  
  
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Baby Boy.”  
  
Peter mumbled something else into Wade’s neck as he relaxed again, and this time Wade didn’t ask what it was, because Peter was relaxed against him, and Wade wanted to let him stay that way for as long as possible. He looked like he needed the rest.  
  


* * *

  
  
Wade shook Peter awake gently when the car pulled up in front of a fancy looking hotel. Peter made an unhappy noise, snuggling into the front of Wade’s sweatshirt for a moment longer before he stretched and slid back. Wade felt cold, and he almost pulled Peter back down. He could scoop him up and carry him inside, and that was suddenly _everything_ he wanted.  
  
He didn’t think Spider-Man would appreciate being manhandled like that, so he took and deep breath and opened the door instead, sliding out onto the sidewalk. He adjusted his sweatshirt as he stood, pulling it down to cover as much of himself as possible. It was just after lunch, so the sidewalk was bustling, and he wasn’t terribly fond of crowds when he wasn’t oddly on edge. Peter sliding out next to him only made him more wary, to be honest. Peter grabbed his hand again though, lacing their fingers together as he shouldered his backpack, and that made it a bit better.  
  
The hotel lobby was huge, an echoing expanse of high ceilings and glass, and once they’d passed the café it was mostly empty. The woman at the reception desk smiled politely as they approached, face a placid customer service mask.  
  
“Good morning, how can I help you?” Her tone was cordial enough, but something in her eyes seemed suspicious. Wade opened his mouth to respond with a catty comment, but Peter spoke first.  
  
“Hi, yeah, good morning. There should be a reservation under Parker.” He fumbled one-handed with his wallet for a moment, not dropping Wade’s hand, before sliding out a sleek, matte black credit card with the Stark Industries logo printed on it. Both Wade and the receptionist stared blankly at it for a long moment before she took it.  
  
“Alright.” She turned back to the computer, “Let’s see. Yes, Peter Parker? You should be up in the tower. Suite 1502. Would you like me to call someone to show you up to the room?” She pointedly didn’t look at them as she ran the card, or when she handed it back along with a keycard. Peter shook his head as he took it.  
  
“No, we’ll find our way, thank you.” She smiled. Peter turned toward the elevator, pulling a grateful Wade along behind. As soon as the elevator doors opened, Peter crowded him in against the back wall, slotting himself under Wade’s chin and tucking his hands into the front pocket of Wade’s hoodie. Wade wrapped his arms around him fondly. The doors slid shut after a long moment, and they were alone.  
  
“Hey Baby Boy, did you wanna hang out in the elevator all day, or should we push the button to go up?” Wade teased and Peter stuck an arm out, awkwardly flailing it towards the door without looking. And without coming anywhere near the buttons. Wade sighed theatrically, and pressed the button himself, tucking Peter’s hand back into his pocket on the way back.  
  
“ _My hero_.” Peter murmured into Wade’s chest, and Wade buried his face in Peter’s hair again. He laid a light kiss there, barely even a touch, before the door dinged open.  
  
Peter pulled him down the hallway impatiently. Their room was actually a suite, with a separate sitting area and a fireplace and an entire wall of windows overlooking navy pier. Peter dropped Wade’s hand as he pushed into the bedroom, dropping his backpack and falling face first onto the fucking giant bed. Wade stopped in the doorway, just leaned there and watched as Peter lay still for a moment before he peeked over his shoulder, puppy dog eyes out in full force.  
  
Wade crossed the space slowly, and Peter sat up enough to grab his arm, pulling him to sit on the bed. He closed his eyes and laid his head on Wade’s thigh with a pout. Wade carded a hand through his hair.  
  
“How about you hop in the shower baby boy. I’ll have a look around, then we can eat something and take a nap. Or take a nap, then eat something, whichever. Okay?” Peter pouted at that, flailing an arm out to wrap around Wade.  
  
“Are you gonna have a shower too?” Wade pulled a face at the tone, but Peter’s eyes were still closed so he missed it.  
  
“After, okay? One thing at a time, Petey-pie.” Peter made an upset noise into Wade’s thigh, and Wade shifted backward, because fuck, this was not the time and place, but Peter held on. “Seriously, let’s get a move on. The sooner we’re all clean and fed, the sooner you can sleep, and from the looks of you, you need the sleep. Up and at em, tiger!”   
  
Peter didn’t look happy, but he went off to the attached bathroom anyway. He didn’t close the door though.   
  
Wade waited until he heard the water start, then stood to check out the suite. It was habit, he was fairly sure there wouldn’t be anything to find— Peter trusted they’d be safe and Wade trusted Peter —but he couldn’t be too safe. He made sure to put out the Do Not Disturb sign, and lock the door.  
  
While he moved, going through the practiced motions of checking for bugs and poking into all the closets and corners, Wade mulled things over. It was odd, finding his Sentinel now. He’d known he was a Guide for a long time, he’d found that out from the X-Men— and hadn’t that been a fun experience? He’d been to classes and everything —but he’d never expected to find an actual match. Or if he did, he’d expected them to run away screaming the moment they found each other. He supposed there was still time for that, Peter had only just met him.  
  
He closed the curtains in the bedroom, and the blackout drapes behind them, but left the living room drapes open, lingering by the window for a long moment. Peter seemed serious about this, and Wade was going to humor him for however long this lasted. Peter would leave eventually, but for now, Wade would enjoy whatever he was allowed. The calm warmth that came from having Peter close was more than enough for him.  
  
Wade missed the water in the shower cutting off, but he didn’t miss the shuffling footsteps behind him. He stepped away from the window and met Peter halfway back to the bedroom. Peter wrapped his arms around Wade, tucking his face into Wade’s neck. He was warm and clean and damp, and Wade closed his eyes to just savor the moment.  
  
Peter shifted, mouthing against Wade’s neck, then scraping the skin lightly with his teeth. Wade shivered at the sensation, making sure his hips were canted away. He was only human.  
  
“What do you think, nap first or food first? The order is negotiable.” Wade tried to make it sound like a natural transition, and not a tactical retreat. Peter eyed him dubiously anyway. Wade petted his damp hair, trying for conciliatory. “Pick something off the room service menu, and I’ll call down for it.”   
  
“Or…” Peter cupped the other side of Wade’s neck, stroking the underside of his jaw with his thumb. “You pick something and go take a shower. I’ll call down. Then we can take a nap.” Wade rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep the edge of his mouth from twitching up. The warmth in his stomach hummed happily.  
  
“Sure. Admit it, you just wanna get me naked. Just so you know, I’m a proper lady, and I expect more than just dinner before I put out.” He kept his tone light and teasing, trying to let Peter know he didn’t expect anything. Peter hummed, burying his face in Wade’s neck again before pulling back. Wade stared at the doorway for a moment, then decided he didn’t care. “Just order me whatever, I’m not picky.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Peter was sitting in the middle of the bed when Wade came back, scowling at the room service menu like the world was ending. It was adorable, but it pulled at his heartstrings just the same.  
  
“What’s up, buttercup?” Wade flopped down onto the bed, wrapped in a plush hotel robe, because why not? He tried not to smile but probably failed.   
  
“Everything on here is really expensive and I can’t pronounce half of it.” Peter practically whined. Wade shifted closer than he probably should, picking up the menu to study it while laying the other on Peter’s knee. It is pretty expensive, and most of it looks like small plate Italian food. He shrugged.  
  
“Thems the break, baby boy. You pick a fancy-ass hotel like this, you get rich people food.” He tossed the menu carelessly and it landed somewhere in the corner. He leaned down to grab his phone without breaking contact. “How about I order pizza instead? They’ll deliver.”  
  
He was dialing before Peter even opened his mouth to respond.  
  
  


* * *

  
Wade picked his way through two slices of pizza, one from each box, as he watched Peter burn through the rest of it without paying much attention. Wade did most of the talking, rambling without saying very much, just to keep Peter distracted enough to keep eating. It was more satisfying than it should be, watching Peter eat his fill, but Wade wasn’t going to question his instincts. He was just going to enjoy taking care of Peter— his _Sentinel_ —for as long as he could. Peter was slowing down by the time he reached for a slice to find only empty boxes, and Wade’s eyes twitched towards his phone without even thinking.  
  
“I can order some more. It’s not quite dinner yet, we could probably get them over pretty quick and beat the rush.” Wade asked, _absolutely_ ready to make that call. Peter shook his head and flopped back onto the bed with a groan. Wade moved the empty pizza boxes to the floor before crawling over next to him.  
  
“Are you sure? How about dessert? The room service menu had tiramisu on it, we could finish out with something _sweet_.” Wade prodded, laying down so he could look Peter in the eye. Peter pulled a face.  
  
“Are you trying to kill me? I’m too young and pretty to go out like this!” He smiled, scooting over a little so his nose was almost touching. Wade tucked his hair back.  
  
“Don’t worry, Baby Boy, you’ve got plenty more mountains of pizza to look forward to. I’d never let you go out in such an undignified manner.” Peter leaned into the contact. His smile softened and his eyes slid closed. “Is it nap time now then?”   
  
Peter didn’t say anything, but he nodded around a yawn. Wade let himself watch for a long, beautiful moment before he stood. Peter grabbed at his hand but missed it by a mile.  
  
“Nooooooooo! _Come back_ , you’re warm. Nap with meeeeee.” Peter whined. Wade crossed his arms.  
  
“I’m not going far, I’ll be out on the couch,” Wade explained. He crossed to the door and flipped off the bedroom light. The light from the living room fell across the bottom half of the bed, on Peter’s bare legs.  
  
“Why? Are you not gonna take a nap? I thought it was nap time.” Peter sounded… upset about it. Wade leaned against the doorframe, haloed in the light.   
  
“Yeah, but I’m gonna sleep out here, give you your space. Just come get me when you wake up.”  
  
“But _why_? Can’t you sleep in here?” Peter sounded tired but sincere, and he felt the edge of it in his stomach, cold and harsh. “ _Please_ Wade?”  
  
And Wade’s resolve crumpled under the weight of that.  
  
“Fine.” He pulled the door shut after him. The room was dark, but Wade could see the outline of Peter against the bedspread as he moved to make room, pulling back the covers so they could both slide in. Wade kept the robe on, trying to cover as much skin as he could. Peter waited for him to settle before snuggling up close. He laid his head carefully on Wade’s shoulder.  
  
“Is this okay? Let me know if it’s too much.” Peter almost whispered the words. “It’s easier if I can touch you. I know it’s weird, and I’m sorry, just let me know if you need more space.” Wade wanted to correct him, but he didn’t.  
  
“It’s fine Baby Boy, whatever you need.”

 

* * *

  
Wade woke to the dark hotel room, but he didn’t feel the familiar moment of tense panic in unfamiliar surroundings. He was warm and comfortable, and Spidey— _Peter_ —was sprawled half on top of him, bare skin against bare skin. It was nice. He could feel the bond now, the warm soothing feeling of intimate _correctness_ blossoming in the back of his head. He just basked in that feeling, tried his hardest to memorize it now. Peter wasn’t going to stay forever. Peter was a good guy— and a fucking costume wearing superhero-ing _good-guy_ —and he’d get tired of this eventually. He’d go back to what he was doing before, and Wade would deal with that when it happened.  
  
For now, he wrapped an arm around Peter, burying his face in Peter’s hair and let himself float somewhere between asleep and awake. He had no idea how long it was before Peter stirred. He snuggled down, pulled himself closer to Wade as he hummed quiet, content noises into Wade’s bare chest. Wade waited patiently for the moment Peter woke up enough to be embarrassed, where he’d pull back with a disgusted look.   
  
Peter doesn’t though, and when he pulled away it was just enough to look up at Wade with a contented grin. Wade shifted and cleared his throat because he didn’t have a script for this, this wasn’t how the morning after usually went. Sure, they hadn’t had sex or anything, but they’d still slept together.  
  
“Good morning, gorgeous. What has _you_ in such a good mood?” Wade said, voice still husky from sleep. Peter stretched languidly, still smiling.  
  
“I just… This is gonna sound so _stupid_ , but…” Peter shut his eyes, and snuggled back down, hand resting on Wade’s chest. “I just can’t believe this is _real_. I mean, I found you, you didn’t laugh in my face and tell me to fuck off. You’re _here_.” He sounded awed at that fact, and Wade was frankly baffled by it because who in their right goddamn mind would push Peter away?   
  
“I am. And so are you. And I’m staying as long as you’ll have me, Baby Boy.” He said it quietly, unsure if he wanted Peter to hear it or not. Peter smiled against his skin, and Wade shifted, clearing his throat again. “So, you may have come all prepared, but I gotta go grab a couple things, make sure everything’s locked up. It shouldn’t take long, I’ll be back in less than an hour, okay?” Wade made it sound light, like it wasn’t a big deal, because it wouldn’t be. Peter wasn’t having any of that.  
  
“Let me get clothes on, I’m coming with you.” Wade tensed, but Peter continued firmly, “Look, I know it’s dumb, but you leaving by yourself right now makes me nervous. It’s instincts, right?” Wade sighed, because he couldn’t really argue with that without sounding like a dick. Then Peter spoke again, quietly, “ _Please_?”  
  
“Fine.” Wade wanted to sound annoyed, but it came across as tired. “We’ll go, we’ll come right back.” Wade didn’t like the idea of Peter being alone here that much either, which was stupid because he was Spider-Man, so he didn’t fight that hard. “Anything else we need while we’re out?”  
  
“No.” Peter sounded off now, like something was bothering him, and Wade winced. Great, now he’d fucked this up already. He needed this to last, as long as he could make it. He slid a hand into Peter’s hair, holding him close, but Peter pulled back again and looked him in the eyes. Peter seemed torn, upset, and Wade’s stomach was in knots again.   
  
“Okay. It’s fine. Breakfast, then a field trip, then we’ll be back. It’ll be _fine_.” Wade repeated it like he was trying to convince Peter.   
  
Peter smiled, weak and small but sure, and then threw his arms around Wade’s neck, hauling him down so he could press a single, closed-mouthed kiss to his lips. Then he pulled back again, burying his face in Wade’s sweatshirt.  
  
“ _Sorry_ ,” Peter mumbled the word like he meant to say something more but anything else got caught up in his mouth. Wade pulled him in closer.  
  
“It’s fine. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Baby Boy. Just relax.” Peter made a frustrated noise but didn’t say anything else, so Wade let it go at that. He focused on trying to memorize this feeling, having Peter close against him before he had to let it go.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Again, it gets happier from here. Promise.
> 
> Kudos, comments, and criticism welcome.
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr, im @ursweetheartless


	4. 4. Wade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They deal with some shit, and Wade realizes Peter has a whole normal life back in New York. He wants to be a part of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the wait, it's been a crazy week or two... 
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who stuck around, this may go a tiny bit longer than I'd imagined. enjoy?

They ate breakfast at the café in the lobby. Peter made a face at the caramel macchiato that Wade ordered, but he still stole sips of it while they ate and Wade just smiled through it all. The taxi ride was silent, but not uncomfortable. Wade threw an arm over Peter’s shoulder when they slid in, and he stayed tucked in close the whole ride.

 

The safe house wasn’t in a great part of town, but it was cheap, close to the Hellhouse, and the neighbors mostly kept to themselves. Still, the apartment itself was a dump, and the doubt was crawling back up his throat, a hot acid nervousness. He didn’t want Peter to see this part of his life. This was the dark stuff, like a representation of the bad parts of him. He suddenly wanted to beg Peter to stay in the car, but he didn’t think _that_ would go over very well so he didn’t.

 

It still smelled like bleach and fake lemon and stale air. Peter clung to his hand until they were inside, peering around the dim space. Wade pointedly didn’t look at him, ducking his head, because he didn’t want to see concern or pity or disgust or whatever because _yeah, I fucking live like this._ He tried for a smile.

 

“Well, this is where the magic happens. I’d give you the grand tour, but I don’t want to.” He gave Peter’s hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away. “I’ll just go shove some shit into a bag, then we can bounce back to the hotel. Cool? Cool.” Peter was silent and still.

 

Wade pushed the door to the bedroom open, then closed it after him. There was one tangled sheet on the bare mattress in there, and half his arsenal was strewn across the floor from where he’d been trying to organize it before he’d left.

 

He grabbed the duffle he’d brought to New York and dumped the still dirty contents onto the floor. He’d deal with that later. For now, he started filling the bag again; a handful of mismatched socks and underwear from the hopefully clean pile; a pair of fairly new lounge pants; a faded sweatshirt. He thought about the Deadpool suit, sitting in a pile on the other side of the bed, but he left it there for now. He didn’t want that to infringe on the time he has with Peter. He didn’t know how long this weird holiday would last, but he wanted to just enjoy every second he could get.

 

He paused, then shoved a gun and a spare clip in on top before zipping it up, just to be safe. When he pushed back out into the living room, he froze.

 

Peter was standing in the corner, fingers barely grazing the ratty recliner, staring blankly at the utter fucking mess that was that corner. Wade hissed in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut against the wave of shame. He hadn’t thought about _that_. He should not have let this happen.

 

“Wade?” Peter didn’t turn towards him, “What’s this?”

 

_Fuck_ , he wanted to drop the bag and run, or maybe lock himself in the bedroom. He took a shaking breath, frozen to the spot, and didn’t do either. He gripped the duffle like a lifeline, knuckles white.

 

Peter took the silence as… well, Wade didn’t actually have any fucking _idea_ how Peter was taking this, what he was thinking. Peter left the shame corner though, so that was something. He crossed the room, standing in front of Wade but not touching him.

 

“Talk to me please.” Peter sounded concerned, but not panicked. He sounded _sure_ Wade forced himself to take a deep breath.

 

“Yeah, sorry. Ready to go? Because I would like to get the fuck out of here if that’s okay.” Wade forced his tone to be bright. Peter looked unconvinced, but not angry or disgusted. Peter obviously wanted to talk about… _that_ whole thing, but Wade would rather pull off his own fingernails. He pulled out the big avoidance guns instead. He wished he’d grabbed the mask from his suit, but he’d have to make do with a fake smile for now because they needed to leave.

 

“I’m fucking _starving_ babe, how about we grab something to eat on the way back. It’s probably lunchtime by now, right? I know a great Mexican place a few blocks from here. We could grab something, and have a picnic back in the hotel room.” He shifted the bag to one arm, using the other to herd Peter towards the door. Peter went along with it, thank god. “Or we could order pizza again, you seemed to like that. Of course, it won’t be the same as pizza back in New York, but we can make do. Or we could get you some Chicago style pizza. Have you had that yet, Petey? It’s not really my thing, though don’t go saying that too loud because _some_ people are very touchy about their regional specialties.”

 

Peter went easily out to the cab, still waiting there for them, meter running. He even let Wade keep some distance in the back seat, which was nice. He was practically vibrating with forced energy, fight and flight and panic blurring together.

 

“There are way better things though unless you want to be able to brag about eating weird casserole pizza to your friends back home.”

 

Wade rambled the whole way back to the hotel, and Peter just let him. Usually whoever he was talking at either told him to shut up or left, but Peter seemed to just relax into it. When the car pulled to a stop, Peter turned to him with a serious look, and Wade stopped talking.

 

“Are you done?” Peter’s voice was calm and level, but not cold. Wade nodded, he hadn’t really been conveying information, just letting off steam. Peter nodded in return. “Okay. We’re going to go upstairs. We’re going to take a shower. We’re going to order something to eat. Then I’m going to call home, and maybe we can watch a movie.” Wade nodded again, his hands clutched tightly around the bag still.

 

“We’re going to talk about whatever that was eventually, but not today. Probably not tomorrow either. It bothers me, but it looks like it bothers you even more.” Then Peter’s eyes got soft and oddly wet, and Wade was terrified that he was going to cry. He didn’t. He laid a hand on Wade’s though, bare skin on bare skin. “But I need you to _promise_ me that it’s not going to happen again, Wade.”

 

Wade blinked because suddenly he felt like _he_ might cry, the feelings ricocheting between them through the bond. He nodded frantically.

 

“I promise, Baby Boy.” Peter smiled softly.

 

“Good.” He opened the car door and pulled Wade out after him. “Let’s go.”

 

Wade followed and hoped he could keep that promise. He knew it would go out the window the moment Peter left, but he felt like he could make it until then.

 

* * *

 

They showered, and Wade ordered an obscene amount of Mexican food while Peter sat in the corner by the window, on his phone. Wade watched him from the bedroom, far enough away that he couldn’t hear what he was saying. It seemed respectful not to eavesdrop on the conversation. Peter was talking to people from his <i>real</i> life back in New York. If it was any of his business Peter would tell him about it. Besides, he didn’t need the reminder that Peter had a other things going on, a real normal life back home that he’d want to get back to eventually, once they were done playing house.

 

Well, maybe _normal_ was the wrong word. He was Spider-Man there after all. But it was real, and it was Peter’s life. Peter definitely didn’t spend his nights in a shithole basement apartment with blood on the walls.

 

Wade stood up when the delivery guy knocked, motioning to Peter that he’d get it. By the time he’d gotten the food inside— and tipped the delivery guy _generously_ —Peter was saying his goodbyes.

 

“I know, I’ll be back soon…” He was standing, and he sent Wade a soft smile when he looked over. “Tell Mr.Stark I’m fine, and he doesn’t have anything to worry about… No, I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out, okay? I have to go, now. I love you, Aunt May.”

 

Wade busied himself unpacking the bags, laying the feast out on the table.

 

“Yes, I know. And I’ll be careful, but I have to _go_. It’s dinner time…” Peter sounded exasperated and fond, in a way that made Wade melt a little. He bit his lip. “Yes. I love you too, Aunt May. Goodbye.” He hung up and let out a groan, then tossed his phone onto the couch. He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Wade from behind, leaning his forehead heavily against Wade’s back.

 

“I’m going to have to go home soon.” Peter mumbled the words “I can’t afford to miss more than a week of classes, even with legal protections. Then I’ll have to repeat the semester, and I _can’t_ repeat the semester.”

 

Wade closed his eyes, swallowing against the feelings. He didn’t want to think about Peter leaving that soon. He turned around, wrapping his arms around Peter in return.

 

“We can think about that later, okay? For now, let’s eat this before it gets cold.” Peter pouted and didn’t let go. Wade let him stay, petting one hand through his damp hair.

 

Peter ate everything Wade put in front of him while Wade talked, cataloging every facial expression, taking note of which things were enjoyed and which were tolerated. Once the food was gone, and Peter had drained two glasses of water, Wade led him to the couch. He put on the first action movie in the pay-per-view menu, something he vaguely recognized but hadn’t seen before. Peter lay still, with his head on Wade’s chest, and stared at the screen without really watching the movie. Wade tried not to sigh.

 

“When do you have to leave?” Wade said, hoping the bitterness didn’t come across in his words. Peter half shrugged, still staring blankly at the screen.

 

“A few days more at most. The sooner the better to be honest.” Fuck, Wade could hear the edge of tears in his voice, and it _hurt_. He did what he could, holding Peter close. Peter moved one hand under the edge of Wade’s sweatshirt, so the flat of his palm rested on Wade’s side, skin against skin. His hand was cold, and Wade could feel his frustration even without the fledgling bond.

 

“I-” Peter started again, then stopped. He made a frustrated noise, curling in tighter against Wade, not watching the screen anymore. “I wish I could take you home with me. I know that’s not _fair_ , but I just-”

 

“I’ll go.” Wade cut in firmly, without thinking. Then he added, “I mean, if that’s what you want. I’ll go back to New York.”

 

Peter turned to gape at him, wide eyes wet with tears.

 

“I want that more than anything,” Peter’s voice was quiet, “but I can’t just-”

 

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. I can go to New York. I may have to travel for work, but I can take some time off first.” Wade said. Peter didn’t answer this time, just stared at him. Wade hadn’t felt so sure of anything in a long time. He’d do almost anything if it meant holding on to this as long as he could.

 

They didn’t talk about it again until they’d gone to bed. Peter hadn’t been thrilled when Wade had pulled out fresh pajamas, but he hadn’t fought very hard. He had pouted though, which had almost gotten him his way.

 

“So when do we leave, Baby Boy?” Wade stared up at the dark ceiling, reveling in the now familiar weight of Peter’s head on his shoulder. It was a blank smooth white, dark save for the slash of light from the living room window. “I don’t want to rush you, but I do want you to get home so you can deal with school and stuff.” Peter shrugged again, or at least Wade assumed the small movement was a shrug.

 

“Dunno.” Peter sounded sleepy, but he was calm now. He yawned, then continued, voice soft. “I can get tickets or whatever. How much time do you need to pack?”

 

“Don’t have much to pack. I could get it done in an hour or two, I guess.” Wade ran a hand through Peter’s hair, thinking. “I, uh… I can’t exactly fly commercial though. I need to… stay under the radar?” He added it like an afterthought, then held his breath for the response.

 

“Whatever, we’ll figure it out.” Peter said, then snuggled down, and they slept.

 

* * *

 

A day or two later, Peter figured it out by himself. He sat on the front stoop of Wade’s safehouse on the phone while Wade packed— _thank god_ —and talked on the phone. He didn’t share his plan, giving the cab driver an address on the outskirts of the city. It was an airport, a smaller one, the kind where the hangers were probably full of little two-seater hobby planes.

 

The woman from the bar met them at the gate. Now that Wade wasn’t quite so… <i>distracted</i>, he recognized her. Natasha Romanova, the Black Widow. He was caught between wariness and the desire to fanboy, so he settled for a lear and a wink behind the mask. Peter shouldered one of the giant duffles, Wade took the other two, and they followed her silently to a hanger across the runway. Peter rolled his eyes as soon as they pushed inside.

 

“ _Really?_ Sending a _Quinjet_ seems like a waste of Avenger’s resources.” He sounded tired, and Wade shifted the bags so one was on his back so he could take Peter’s hand, interlacing their fingers.

 

Wade recognized Clint when he jumped down from the plane’s back hatch. He thought about waving, but it seemed more important to keep holding Peter’s hand so he nodded a greeting instead. Clint waved at the both of them awkwardly.

 

“Nope.” Clint popped the P obnoxiously, as he cracked his neck. “Officially, we’re here to intercept a possibly dangerous fugitive heading to New York city for _unknown reasons_ and make sure he’s not here to cause any trouble. It’s on brand for sure.” Peter faltered a step, then angled himself so he was standing between Wade and the Avengers.

 

“Wade is _not_ going into SHIELD or Avengers custody. _We_ are not here to cause any trouble. We’re protected right now, and none of you can legally touch him. I won’t hesitate to take advantage of that if I have to.” Peter didn’t quite yell, again, but there was steel in his voice. It was authoritative. And hot. _Fuck_ , Wade shifted a little and tried to look non-threatening. Clint shook his head.

 

“Don’t worry man, we don’t have any plans to take your man. It’s all posturing, gotta make it look good.” Clint said over his shoulder as he led them back to the plane. He jumped up on the lowered gate at the back. Peter relaxed a little, but he still held Wade’s hand more firmly than before.

 

They passed the bags over, and Clint secured them.

 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, by the way. Without the mask and stuff.” Clint said conversationally when he reached back for the second duffle. Peter stiffened, and Wade pulled him close now that they weren’t carrying anything, wrapping around him from behind. It helped. “I mean, I know you were very careful, I won’t hold it against you, but it just seems _exhausting_ , hiding yourself all the time like that. I know this isn’t an ideal situation for you, but at least you won’t have to put in that much work anymore. Around us at least.”

 

He turned with a grin, the last bag secured.

 

“I was super jealous of Nat when she got to see your face first. I thought we were bros, Spider-Dude.” He kept the words light and ruffled Peter’s hair as he passed, ducking into the cockpit up front, where Natasha was already sitting. “But don’t worry, we’re good at keeping secrets, I had your back before, and I’ve still got your back. Promise.”

 

Peter relaxed a little at that, but he still seemed a little uncomfortable as they strapped in, and the hatch started to close. Wade tossed an arm over his shoulder again, and Peter curled down against him.

 

Wade had to admit, flying was _way_ faster than driving. Even without engaging any of the flashy speed boosters he _knew_ the plane had, the trip took less than two hours. Peter spent the whole trip tucked under Wade’s arm, reading something on his phone. Now that he was heading back to class soon, he had some things to catch up on, and Wade wasn’t going to distract him from that. He kept himself busy just watching Peter, cataloging his little mannerisms and quirks.

 

They landed on the helipad on the roof of Stark’s ostentatious tower, which Wade wasn’t happy about, but Peter seemed perfectly comfortable there so he let it slide. He may not trust the Avengers or SHIELD but Peter seemed to trust them enough. And seemed like a much better idea not to piss off Peter’s sometimes teammates, if he could avoid it. They could all coexist, for now.

 

Tony Stark met them at the door, looking slightly uncomfortable behind giant, reflective sunglasses. Peter waved at him, and he seemed to relax a little when he saw Peter looking much better than when he’d first met Wade. That was a point in his favor.

 

“Hey guys, I set some rooms up for you on the team floor.” Tony said, “I also have a doctor coming by, she’s one of ours, she can give you a well-check.” Peter pulled a face at that, but Tony just plowed through. “You’ll need her to sign off before you can go back to classes.”

 

Peter slumped a little, and Wade pulled him in close, with a hand on his hip. Tony turned to Wade then.

 

“Wilson-” He sounded less glad to be addressing him, which made Wade smile behind the mask. Peter cut in again.

 

“Mr.Stark, we’re not here to cause trouble. Wade came back here because I asked him to.” He was being _firm_ again, and that stirred something in Wade’s stomach every damn time. Tony held up both hands placatingly.

 

“Look, Wilson, you’re welcome here as long as you behave. You will have limited clearance in the tower as long as the two of you need to stay. Don’t make me regret this.” Peter looked like he wanted to argue, push the point, but Wade was trying to make an effort here, so he set down the bag he was holding, and stuck out his hand.

 

“I promise to be on my best behavior, scout’s honor. I’m here for Peter, as long as he wants me.” Wade said, and Tony eyed him for a moment before he reached his own hand out to shake.

 

“Good, we’re on the same page then. I can show you guys down to your rooms, and you can drop your stuff off there. The doctor will be by sometime before dinner, Jarvis can let you know when she’s coming.”

 

Peter relaxed at that, and so Wade relaxed too.

 

“No, I can take us down Mr.Stark. I’m sure you have things to do, and Jarvis can tell us which room is ours.” Peter didn’t wait for a response, just shouldered his bag and pushed through the glass door. Wade hurried to follow him.

 

They were closed in the elevator, alone, when the voice came, making Wade tense.

 

“Good afternoon Peter. It’s good to see you back, you seem to be doing well.” The voice was vaguely British sounding, and it came from seemingly everywhere in the small space. It was unsettling. Peter smiled though.

 

“It’s good to be back, Jarvis. This is Wade.” Peter sounded relaxed.

 

“I have been briefed about Mr.Wilson’s presence. Peter, you have been assigned room 1228, Mr.Wilson will be in 1229.” Then the door slid open, and the hallway looked kind of like a classy hotel. Peter made a face.

 

“You know we’re not staying in separate rooms, Jarvis. You can tell Mr.Stark we appreciate it, but we’re staying together.” Peter said, before shouldering the duffle he was carrying again. The hallway was quiet, and Peter seemed content enough. He punched in a code on the keypad next to one of the doors, and it unlocked, letting them in.

 

The room was fairly simple, with a double bed and a chest of drawers. Peter dropped the duffle and flopped heavily down onto the bed. Wade wanted to check the room for bugs and poke around, but he resisted the urge. He was a guest here, and he knew Stark would be keeping an eye on them. It would go a lot further towards proving himself if he let it go than if he pushed it right now. It bothered him a little, but he didn’t really have any other logical option here. At least not one that didn’t separate him from Peter, and that wasn’t something he was willing to do right now.

 

He’d start looking for an apartment as soon as Peter was back in his normal routine, but for now, this was what he had and he’d make the best of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please be kind, and comments, kudos, or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading! <<33


	5. 5. Wade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they visit the doctor, and both of them get some things off their chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, one more after this. enjoy?

Peter sat as close to Wade as he could, while still keeping his ass on the couch, with one of Wade’s arms pulled over his shoulder. Peter had changed into fresh clothes, casual and comfortable, and he’d stolen one of Wade’s hoodies. It was just a little too big on him, and it hid his face when he leaned forwards. Wade had dressed to match, except for the mask and glove, covering as much skin as he could. He’d left one glove off, a compromise for his Baby Boy’s Puppy Dog Eyes. The kid was clearly way more nervous than Wade, and right now he was holding Wade’s bare hand in both of his, gripping it tightly over his lap.

 

“Peter, Mr.Wilson, the doctor is on her way up. I will pause recording and monitoring in this room to protect your privacy.” Jarvis spoke, and Wade tried not to tense. The whole disembodied voice thing still freaked him out.

 

“Thanks, Jarvis.” Peter sounded  _ fond _ , which was a trip.

 

“If either of you should need my assistance before the doctor leaves, You can access me from the console by the door.” Jarvis said crisply, a beat before the door opened. The Doctor was a woman, about Peter’s height, and blonde, with a kind smile. She was pulling a cart behind her, covered with all sorts of medical looking stuff. Wade tried not to look at it, but his heart rate spiked anyway. She shut the door firmly behind her before she spoke.

 

“Hey guys, my name’s Sydnee. I’m going to give you guys a quick well-check, just to clear you for getting back to your lives, okay?” She pulled the cart over to the chair across from them, and say down. It was out of her immediate reach, which was… comforting? A little?

 

“First,” She began, getting out a little pad of paper and a pen from one of her lab coat pockets, “I have a few questions for you guys. Then we’ll do a brief physical exam, nothing strenuous I promise, and I’ll take a little blood. Just so you know, your samples will all stay in the building, and none of this information will go anywhere. It that all okay?”

 

Peter nodded quickly, more relaxed now that the doctor was actually in the room, and Wade took a deep breath and followed suit. He wasn’t thrilled, medical things always made the anxiety twist in his gut, but he nodded anyway. Peter gripped his hand a little tighter, tracing the pattern of scars across Wade’s knuckles absently. Sydnee nodded back, though she paused to make a note on her pad. That definitely didn’t help.

 

“Peter, let’s start with you.” The doctor said, turning to Peter. “Have you noticed any specific changes since the bonding? Physical, emotional, whatever.” Peter didn’t seem to mind the attention, which made things a little easier. He kept stroking Wade’s hand though, thumb tracing almost random patterns across his skin. It was calming, grounding.

 

“I dunno. Things were pretty rough before I found my way back to Wade. I feel great now though.” Peter faced forwards, smiling a thoughtful little half smile. Wade watched him, and that helped too. “I mean, I want to touch him all the time, that’s new. And I guess I’ve been eating better than I was, and sleeping on a fairly regular schedule. I’m not sure how long that’s going to last, once I get back to… life things.” Sydnee nodded.

 

“That’s great. That’s normal. The period of separation you two suffered unassisted would have been stressful on you both, especially so soon after bonding. I’m sure that was difficult.” She scribbled another note on the pad, pausing to wait for pere to add anything else. He seemed to be thinking but didn’t speak up, so she turned to Wade. “How about you, Wade? Have you noticed anything?”

 

Wade took a deep breath, wondering how much he should admit to. There had been a shit ton of change. The boxes had fucked off, for one. He was also feeling a lot more… stable maybe? Being with Peter gave him something to focus on.

 

“Wade?” Peter asked, quietly, and Wade realized he’d been staring off into space silently for longer than he realized. He smiled, squeezing Peter’s knee in apology.

 

“Sorry. I’ve been good. Really good actually, compared with before.” He paused and swallowed against the dry lump in his throat. “It’s been a bit more difficult here, being around this many people. I guess I don’t like sharing. I’m working on it though.

 

He hoped that sounded plausible and complete enough that the doctor wouldn’t go poking around for more. It was the truth, just not the  _ whole _ truth. He really didn’t want to talk about how fucked up he actually was, especially not in front of Peter.

 

“I’m sleeping well and eating better now too. We’ve been looking after each other, I guess.”

 

Wade looked down at their entwined hands on Peter’s knee. It made him smile, honest and goofy behind the mask. Peter leaned into him, and Wade could feel the contentment taking over through the bond, clearer than before. He could still feel the edges of anxiety and fear— his? Peters? Did that matter? —but it was muted.

 

“Alright, let’s talk about the bond then. Can you both access it?” The doctor made a note on her pad before looking up at them expectantly. Wade nodded. Peter tensed, and he felt a quick spike of… something cold and sharp through the bond. He squeezed Peter’s hand and told himself he’d ask about it later. Peter didn’t wait though.

 

“I, uh… I can’t feel anything. I don’t think I can, at least. I mean, how’s it supposed to feel? How do I know I’m doing it?” Peter said, the words coming out in a rush. Then, “What if I can’t? Is it possible that I just…  _ can’t _ ?” He sounded resigned.

 

“It’s not surprising for you to be having some trouble, Peter. You haven’t been trained for this, and sometimes it’s just difficult. Wade, you nodded. You can feel the bond then?” She didn’t sound concerned, and that seemed to make Peter feel a little better. Wade nodded again.

 

“Yeah, I can feel it. It’s rough, and it's usually only when we’re touching, but we also haven’t been doing exercises or anything. It’s uh… it’s been a while since I’ve practiced.” Wade said, apologetically. He didn’t really know  _ why _ , he hadn’t practiced because he was fairly sure he’d never need the skill. He still kinda figured Peter would wise up and nope out before the bond was really strong enough to  _ use _ . Peter looked up at him, eyes wide and hopeful, and Wade felt like shit. God, he was  _ bad _ at this.

 

The doctor smiled though.

 

“So there you go, the bond is there, and it’s rooted pretty well if you can feel it without any exercise. I’ll leave you guys with some information, so you can follow up. If you put in a little effort, I’m sure you’ll both be able to access it in no time.” Peter seemed to relax at her words. He smiled, then leaned back into Wade and it made something in him melt.

 

“Do you guys have any other questions for me? Any other changes I should be aware of? Concerns?.” Wade looked at Peter, studying the way he was watching their intertwined hands contemplatively. Peter looked up, meeting Wade’s eyes for a moment before he shook his head.

 

“Okay then,” The doctor said brightly, “on to the physical exam then.”

 

* * *

It had been uncomfortable, to say the least. Wade didn’t like doctors, and he hated having anyone poke and prod at him like that. Watching her do it Peter was somehow worse though. And it seemed ridiculous, and pointless, because neither one of their results were going to conform to the human baseline.

 

The separation test had been the worst. Wade hadn’t gone far, just a few rooms down the hallway, but he could feel Peter’s anxiety through the bond— hey! They weren’t even touching this time! —and he’d barely held back the desire to just go back in there. Nothing was stopping him from doing it, except for the desire to be done with this doctor stuff for the day. He’d gritted his teeth, and sucked it up.

 

Then they’d taken blood from each one of them, just a small sample. It hadn’t been pleasant, but as soon as it was over, he’d gotten to join Peter again, and it was over. Wade focused on that, focused on their intertwined hands, and tried not to think about how much it would suck when Peter left. If two rooms away was this difficult, how hard would whole cities be? Yeah, it would get easier with time, once they were done with this honeymoon phase, but it was still going to suck.

He didn’t think about where they were going, where Peter was leading them, until they were back in the apartment, closed up in the tiny bathroom. Peter let his hand go to turn on the water in the shower stall, leaning in to adjust the temperature, and Wade froze. He was torn. When Peter stood up, he was studying Wade nervously, pleading with his eyes.

 

“Baby Boy, I’m not sure this is the best idea.” Wade forced his voice to stay level, and Peter stuck his lip out in a pout.

 

“Wade, please. Just give it a try. I know you don’t like being touched, but I’ll keep it to a minimum, I promise, we just need to be close.” Peter trailed off, not meeting Wade’s eyes anymore. Wade gaped a bit.

 

“I don’t… what? Baby Boy, why do you think that?” Wade said. Peter pulled at the hem of his shirt, fidgeting with the fabric.

 

“It’s just me then,” Peter sounded utterly defeated, “it’s me you don’t like to-”

 

“No.” Wade cut it, more forcefully than he intended. He was panicked though, he needed to let Peter know that wasn’t true. That was  _ ridiculous _ . He pulled Peter in close, because that usually helped calm him down, but also because he needed to touch him right now. Peter pushed ineffectually at his chest for a startled moment before he relaxed into it. “Baby Boy, Peter, I promise it’s not you. I couldn’t ask for a better partner in this, you’re everything I want and more. Honest.” Peter opened his mouth, to argue probably, but Wade put a bare finger to his lips in a shushing gesture.

 

“I’m serious. It’s not you, it’s me. I’m a shit show. I know I’m busted, like  _ seriously _ busted, and it’s like this all over. I don’t want to scare you away before I get the chance to have you, you know?”

 

Peter looked up at him with wide eyes again, wet like he was ready to cry. Fuck, he’d ruined it. Here came the rejection.

 

Peter didn’t push him away though. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Wade’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss, light and chaste over the mask. Then he nuzzled his nose against the fabric. His fingers brushed over the seam at the back, a question. Wade couldn’t breathe right then, but he managed to squeak out an  _ okay _ .

 

Peter was careful, he pulled it off slowly, then nuzzled against Wade’s bare cheek. Wade could feel warm affection through the bond, with a shadow of cold shame still there behind it, and a solid core of  _ want _ that made his mouth go dry.

 

“I feel gross after the doctor stuff,” Peter said. It was quiet, and he didn’t pull back at all. “We’re going to take a shower now. Together. Then we’re going to go lay down. Okay?” He sounded  _ sure _ now, an edge of authority running under his words. Wade knew he could push the issue, say no and walk away, but he didn’t really want to anymore.

 

“Whatever you want, Baby Boy.”

 

* * *

Peter swung their joined hands between them as the walked. Between the sleep he was getting, and the coffee based sugar drinks Wade had bought them in the tower’s lobby, Peter was a bundle of energy, practically bouncing down the street. Wade would be worried if Peter wasn’t smiling widely the whole time.

 

They’d gotten the official go-ahead from Dr.Sydnee, and Peter was going back to class tomorrow. She’d called them as soon as she had the forms filled out, and promised she’d send them over to the school as soon as she hung up. Wade was silently bummed that he’d have to share Peter now, but he couldn’t really hold on to that when he could  _ feel _ Peter’s excitement over getting this piece of his life back. It was relaxing, and it had been enough that Wade had let Peter talk him into leaving the mask and gloves behind for the day.

 

So now they were in Queens, heading to Aunt May’s— Peter’s  _ home _ —to pick up his school books and his laptop. Jarvis had convinced them to stay in the tower for a while, where they could have more control over their environment. The literature the doctor had left seemed to agree, so for now, they were still living at the tower. Wade would look for apartments once things settled down.

 

Peter pulled Wade up the steps to a fairly nice looking detached house, on a street of similar looking houses. It was a good walk from the subway, and it was showing it’s age in places, but it looked nice. The kind of place a kid could grow up. It made him oddly nostalgic, and he idly wished he could remember anything about his own youth. He kinda doubted it had been this nice, but maybe it had.

 

Peter jingled the keys in his hands excitedly, fumbling to get them into the lock without letting go of Wade’s hand. He got it on the third try, turning to Wade with a beaming smile before pushing the door open.

 

“Aunt May! We’re here!” Peter almost shouted as he pulled Wade through into the house. There were photos on the wall, and Wade recognized a tiny Peter in some of them on the way passed. Peter pulled him back towards the kitchen, where a woman was standing now. She was younger than Wade had imagined, and she was smiling at them softly. She pulled Peter into a hug, which he returned with his free hand.

 

“May, I want you to meet Wade Wilson. Wade, this is my Aunt May. She raised me.” Wade smiled and stuck out a hand for her to shake.

 

“Pleasure to meet you, Ms.May. I can see where Peter gets the smile.” Wade said, politely. She tutted at him, batting the hand away to pull him into a hug instead. She was still smiling when she pulled back.

 

“I’m glad you found each other. Peter wasn’t doing so well there for a while, I was so worried. But I can see you’ve fixed him right up. Thank you for coming back with him.”

 

Wade rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand.

 

“Yeah, it took us a bit to get our act together, but I promise, I’m here for as long as Peter wants me. That’s not gonna happen again on my watch, scout’s honor.”

 

Peter smiled up at him, leaning in closer to wrap his arms around Wade’s middle, and lean heavy and warm against his side.

 

It was delightfully domestic, sitting next to Peter on the couch while he chatted with his Aunt. They were discussing a TV show they’d been watching together, May carefully not talking about the episode Peter had missed during his absence. Wade didn’t try too hard to pay attention, Peter’s hand on his knee was like an anchor.

 

The sun was starting to set when Peter got up to go get his things, leaving Wade alone with May.

 

“How are  _ you _ holding up, Wade?” May asked quietly, “I saw how bad Peter was before he went to find you. I don’t understand the whole thing, I mean I’ve read about it in dime store romances a few times, but who knows how much of that is exaggerated. I’ve picked up a few things at work, I’m a nurse by the way, and I know it’s rough. I hope it wasn’t too bad.” Wade thought about the creeping emptiness, about sitting in the empty safe house alone and blowing his brains out, and he tried not to let that show. He shrugged, and May smiled softly, unconvinced.

 

“I think the two of you are good for each other. Peter seems happier with you. Happier than before all this, I mean. And that’s all I really need.” She said, then added, “Are you happy with all this?” Wade studied the coffee table like it held the correct answer.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m happy with him. I’m in this for the long haul. I know it’s not always gonna be easy, but it’s what both of us need. I’ll be here as long as he wants me here.”

 

“You keep saying that,  _ as long as he wants me. _ ” May said, leaning forwards, “I can see the way Peter looks at you, and I don’t think that’s going to be an issue. He wants you here. He let you in, and that’s not a decision he takes lightly.” Wade smiled, hoping that was true.

 

He tensed when he felt it, the twinge of something cold through the bond. Like Peter was reaching for him, and not in a fun way. He stood up without really thinking about it.

 

“I’m uh… I’m gonna go check on Peter real quick. I’ll be back in a minute.”

 

Wade took the stairs slowly, despite his desire to run. There was the pull, and he hadn’t felt it since Peter had come to get him. He pushed open a door, the first one he tried at the top of the stairs, and there was Peter. He was sitting on the floor, in a nest of broken furniture, arms wrapped around a familiar set of plushies. The room was trashed, but Wade didn’t pay that any attention, instead squatting down in front of Peter. It made him melt a little, to see those little guys again. He’d sewn them himself, on a sleepless stakeout night while he waited for the asshole he was tracking to move.

 

“Baby Boy? Is everything okay up here?” Wade said it quietly. Peter looked up with wide, wet eyes. He’d been crying.

 

“I’m sorry Wade, I’ve so  _ sorry _ .” Peter sounded wrecked, his voice cracking around the words, and Wade pulled him in. Peter threw his arms around Wade, knocking them backward and squishing the plushies between them.

 

“What are you sorry for, Baby Boy?” Wade kept his voice light and even. He wanted to say Peter had nothing to apologize for, but he had a feeling it would be better to let him get it off his chest now. Whatever it was, it was clearly bothering him.

 

“I  _ left _ you. I didn’t come see you the last night before you left. I just ignored you and hoped you’d go away, and you  _ did _ , and I  _ shouldn’t _ have.” Peter was crying again, Wade could feel it against his neck. He rubbed Peter’s back.

 

“It’s fine. That’s in the past now. I could have tracked you down, you know. I could have found you and made you listen to me. We both made mistakes then, and it’s alright now.” Wade said, still keeping his voice calm and level. Peter sniffled against his neck, but he didn’t stop crying or clinging to Wade like they might be ripped apart.

 

“But I should have gone to you. You waited for me, and I ignored you. You respected that, and left.” Peter took a ragged breath, “You left because I acted like I didn’t want you. That was wrong and cruel and I’m sorry. I wanted to go to you, I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

 

“You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known, Baby Boy. It was the bond, and you’ve never been taught about that stuff.” Wade petted a hand through Peter’s hair, still soft and clean from when they’d showered together. He shivered at the memory. “We’re fine now. We figured it out, you came for me, and we’re fine.”

 

“But what about the next time I fuck something up? I’m not  _ good _ at this, Wade! I’m a bad Sentinel. I don’t know any of the rules, I don’t even know what I’m gonna fuck up next.” Peter sounded broken like this was tearing him up inside. Wade pressed his face into Peter’s hair, inhaling his scent, and left a firm kiss there.

 

“We’ll figure it out when we get to it. We’ll get through this, we’re both strong, and together we’re even stronger.” Wade said it firmly, because it was  _ true _ . Peter thought about it for a moment, breathing evenly now. He wasn’t crying anymore, so there was that at least.

 

“But you don’t even want to touch me, not when it isn’t necessary. You hold me to ground me, sure, but I’ve read enough of the pamphlets to know that’s a Guide thing. I’m so needy and clingy, and I’m  _ bad _ at this. I’m going to push and needle until I push you away and it’ll all be my fault.” Peter spoke the words in a jumble, and Wade took a moment to process them.

 

“Peter, Baby Boy, I want to touch you like  _ all the time _ , like literally constantly. I want you so much. But I’m a disaster, and it’s not just the scars. You saw the safe house, you know I’m broken. You shouldn’t have to deal with any of that. If anyone’s getting the raw end of the stick here, it’s you kid.” Wade held him close while he spoke, sure that the hurt and whatever else was showing on his face. He kinda wished he’d brought the mask. It would make this easier. “You can learn to be a perfect Sentinel if you want, but I’m not getting any prettier or any less batshit insane. You’re gonna be the one stuck with me, Baby Boy. You are absolutely, one hundo percent not the one pulling us down here.”

 

Peter pulled away at that, just enough that he could look up at Wade, sliding a smooth palm across the scars on his cheek. Wade can feel the hope and concern through the bond, and it twists in his stomach.

 

“D-do you actually believe that? That you’re a problem?” Peter sounded baffled, “Because you’re  _ not _ . It’s different, maybe. I don’t have much to compare you to, to be honest, but I don’t know what else I could want.” Peter smiled, shifting so he was sitting more comfortably, straddling Wade’s lap.

 

“You’ve been so comforting, so patient and kind with me, while I stumble through this. Really, I don’t know what I can say that would convince you, but you’re attractive. Really, you’re gorgeous. I’m not going to stop.” Peter’s eyes were wet and soft, and he was so damn pretty with the sunset behind him haloing him in color. “You keep saying you’re here as long as I want you like you expect me to stop. I promise, that’s not going to happen. This is it, Wade.”

 

Wade smiled, crooked, and kissed Peter’s forehead.

 

“Let’s go home then, Baby Boy. You’ve got a big day tomorrow, I wouldn’t wanna keep you out too late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading, anyone who is still here hanging on!
> 
> comments, kudos, and con-crit are all greatly appreciated.
> 
> <<33


	6. 6 Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Wade wrap a few things up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter  
> Please be kind

Peter was genuinely excited to be back in class. After everything that happened, the anchor points of his world shifting like that had, it was good to have this little bit of normalcy. It was nice, but it was still _difficult_. This was the longest he’d been away from Wade since they’d got together, and the farthest he’d been. He could _feel_ the distance between them in a way he hadn’t anticipated. More than once on his walk to campus he’d almost turned back. He’d pushed through it though. He had to keep moving forward. He could _do_ this.  
  
By the time his first class was over, he was tired and cranky. He bought a coffee, took a deep breath, and headed for the lab building. He was a good twenty minutes early, but he could use the time to catch up. He needed it if he was going to keep himself from actually falling behind.  
  
He pulled out his lab notebook and the textbook, lining them up on the bench in front of him. He also pulled out his phone, just to check the time. Then, he fidgeted with it for a moment. He could send just one text, right? Just to let Wade know he was alright. That he was thinking of him. Maybe make sure he wasn’t doing anything to get himself in trouble. Right? Right.  
  
 _One class down, one to go._  
  
He sent it without really thinking too hard, then opened the lab notebook to go over what he’d missed. He put the phone next to him on the bench, within reach and his line of sight. It buzzed less than a minute later.  
  
 _**goofing off in class bb? I approve 1000%!**_  
 _**when are you done? I missssss youuuuuu :(**_  
  
Peter smiled, running his thumb along the edge of the screen. He should just leave it, but he didn’t. Instead, he picked the phone up.  
  
 _I’m between classes. Lab hasn’t started yet. Miss you too though._  
  
He sent it, then blushed. It was a little sappy and cliched, but it was true. He did miss Wade, and he might as well tell him. He didn’t put the phone back down and didn’t wait for Wade to respond.  
  
 _What are you up to? Staying out of trouble I hope?_  
  
 _**you wound me bb, of course im staying out of trouble.**_  
 ** _just kicking Barton’s ass in video games, nbd._**  
  
 _Have fun with that._  
  
 _**i am and i will. he cheats tho, stg.**_  
  
  
Peter covered his laugh with one hand, ducking his head as the door behind him opened and the first of his classmates arrived. He smiled fondly at the phone.  
  
 _Have you tried being better at the game?_  
 _I gotta go, class is going to start soon._  
  
 _**RUDE!!!**_  
 _**you should skip the rest of classes and come hooooommme**_  
  
Peter considered it for a moment. He considered throwing everything back into his bag and heading out now, before the professor showed up. He could probably get the doctor to write him a note, keep him out of class another week. He sighed heavily.  
  
 _Can’t. One of has to be a grown-up,_  
 _and it's probably gotta be me._  
 _I’m out at 4 though, and I’ll come straight home._  
  
He locked the phone and shoved it down to the bottom of his bag to avoid the temptation. He did feel a bit better now though, a smile tugging around his mouth.  
  


* * *

  
  
When he left class, the sun was starting to dip but it was still up. He felt like _skipping_. He’d made it through the day, and now he could go home. There was a time when that wouldn’t have been an accomplishment, but it sure as hell felt like one right now.   
  
It was an odd feeling. He’d never really had anyone to go home to. Aunt May tended to work evening shifts since he’d been old enough to take care of himself after school. It was pleasant, knowing there was someone waiting for him.  
  
He unlocked his phone as he pushed outside, and he already had messages waiting for him. He smiled as he scanned them.  
  
 _**hey where are your classes at?**_  
 ** _nvm, Jarvis told me._**  
 ** _he creepy but hes still a bro._**  
  
The phone buzzed again before he could even unlock it to reply.  
  
 _**BB! turn around!!!!**_  
  
Peter looked around, grinning widely, and there was Wade. He was wearing his mask and gloves but was otherwise dressed like a civilian. He was standing to the side of the path, out of the flow of students coming and going, and waving like an idiot. Peter’s smile softened, and he forced himself to move slowly through the crowd even though he wanted to sprint.  
  
He wrapped his arms around Wade as soon as he was close enough, leaning in and burying his face in Wade’s scent. Both of them relaxed at that. It was like coming home, even though he hadn’t actually moved more than a hundred feet.  
  
“Do you have classes early tomorrow?” Wade asked quietly, close enough that Peter could feel the words against his cheek. “How about we go get some dinner?”  
  
Peter nodded, squeezing Wade tight for another moment before stepping back. Peter grabbed Wade’s hand, lacing their fingers together. It wasn’t quite the same with the gloves on, but he could work with it.  
  
“No early classes, but I do have to be here by noon. Do you have somewhere in mind?” Peter asked. Wade shrugged, though he did start moving down towards the park.  
  
“I dunno. I figured there were tons of places around and I haven’t been to /any/ of them yet.”  
  
So they walked for a while, rambling aimlessly until the sun was down, and they talked. Peter told Wade about his classes, about how close he was to graduating, about the grad schools he already had offers from. Wade told Peter about what he could remember from before Weapon X, anecdotes about jobs he’d been on since, though he avoided the violent parts.  
  
Eventually, they stopped to eat, then they headed home, still slowly weaving through the darkened streets. Peter held Wade’s hand the whole time, and neither one stopped smiling.  
  


* * *

  
  
Peter was exhausted on Friday evening, ready for the week to be over. He’s spent as much time as he could bear at school that week, making up labs and working on the few grad school applications he had yet to send in. He was all caught up now, back on track like he’d never left, but it had taken a lot out of him.  
  
He went straight for their room when he got to the tower, only to find it empty and dark. It wasn’t surprising really, he _knew_ Wade couldn’t spend _all_ his time cooped up in there alone, but it still made him slightly nervous.  
  
He didn’t have to look far though, because the common room was empty and dark, but he could hear Wade’s voice from the kitchen beyond it. He was singing something soft and slightly off-key, mumbling the words. It made Peter flush with fondness. Wade might be an embarrassing goofball, but he was _Peter’s_ embarrassing goofball now.   
  
Peter stopped in the doorway to watch as Wade swung his hips just a little, stirring a pot on the stove that smelled like oregano and basil and heaven. Peter cleared his throat and hid his smile behind a raised hand. Wade turned around with a grin.  
  
“Baby Boy! You’re early!” He held an arm up, beckoning Peter to come in for a hug. Peter didn’t hesitate. He may be gross and sticky— the heat in the library was always cranked up a little too high, and it was worse back in the study corrals —but he wasn’t going to turn down physical contact after being without it all day. Wade nuzzled his nose into Peter’s hair affectionately.  
  
“Not early,” Peter mumbled, where his face was squished into the crook of Wade’s neck. “Class went ten minutes over.” Wade made an apologetic sort of sound, rubbing his hand over Peter’s back.  
  
“How about this. You go take a shower and put on something comfortable, I’ll finish putting together dinner, then you can tell me all about it. Okay?”   
  
Peter nodded, but made no move to let go, until Wade pried his hands away. He pouted but did as he was told. He _did_ feel a lot better when he got back, almost half an hour later. Wade was sliding a second giant baking dish into the oven just as Peter returned. It looked like lasagna. That was _fantastic_ news.  
  
“You wanna tell me about your terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day now?” Wade teased as he wiped his hands on a dishtowel. Peter pulled a face at that.  
  
“Not really. It wasn’t _bad_ , I mean nothing really bad happened. It was just long. I missed you.” Peter sounded tired, and more than a little petulant. Wade made a sympathetic face.  
  
“Well, I set a timer for that, it’ll be a bit before it’s all ready. Let’s go lay down.” Wade suggested, and Peter nodded. That was exactly what he needed.  
  
They went to the couch in the common room, still dark and empty, and Wade didn’t bother turning on the light. He just flopped heavily down across the couch, before motioning for Peter to join him. Peter obliged, laying his head on Wade’s chest, and wrapping one arm over top of him. He closed his eyes as Wade rubbed his back lightly.  
  
“Hey, Wade?” Peter asked in a small voice, “You said you could feel the bond, right? When the doctor was here?”   
  
“Yeah, Baby Boy. I can feel it. It’s easier when we’re touching, but sometimes I can feel it when we’re not.” Wade responded, calm and even.   
  
“What does it feel like?”   
  
“Well, it depends. Usually, it’s just emotions. I can tell how you’re feeling. It’s an… impression I guess? Like a reflection of a thing more than the thing itself.” Wade paused, thoughtful, “It’ll get clearer with time though. And practice. I haven’t been practicing much.” He sounded apologetic about that. Peter wanted to reassure him, but thought maybe now wasn’t the time for that.  
  
“Can you show me?” Peter wanted it badly. He wanted to feel it for himself, the security of their connection. He wanted the anchor of it. Wade slid a hand under the back of Peter’s sweatshirt, laying his bare palm on Peter’s lower back.  
  
“We can try. I’m not sure I’ll be the best teacher, but I can give it a shot.” Wade sounded nervous. With his free hand, he slid up the bottom of his own shirt enough to expose a sliver of skin and pulled Peter’s hand to it. Peter accepted the offer, reveling in the brush of his palm against the uneven surface of Wade’s skin. Wade swallowed.  
  
“So first, close your eyes, and try to breathe evenly. Slowly.” Peter did as he was told, Wade’s voice taking on a calm, almost hypnotic tone. “Focus on your breathing, and only on your breathing. Let everything else go.”  
  
Peter took a deep breath, and let it out. Getting the rest of his mind to be quiet was easier said than done though. He let out a frustrated little huff, and the hand on his back pulled him in closer.   
  
“Walk yourself through every emotion and sensation you’re feeling. Take a moment to acknowledge each one. Catalogue it. Then, let it go. Touch each one only once.” Wade’s voice was even and calm still. Peter tried.  
  
He felt the couch underneath them, soft where it molded to his side. He felt the warmth radiating from Wade. He felt the cool breeze from the ventilation system circulating air through the room. He smelled dinner cooking in the other room. He heard his own even breathing, and Wade’s as well, synced up together. He felt Wade’s heartbeat, steady under his head. He felt the texture of Wade’s skin, the smooth whorls and divots. He acknowledged them one by one, then he let them go.  
  
He moved through sensations and emotions and thoughts. Then all of a sudden, there it was. He felt affection, tinged at the edges with self-conscious anxiety. He felt the shame of knowing you should be better at something than you are. Those weren’t his feelings, he could tell almost immediately. They were _Wade’s_. This was it.  
  
He lost it as quickly as he found it though, the spike of joy and accomplishment that accompanied that realization were too much. Peter didn’t care though, because he’d found it. It was there.   
  
“Good job, Pete. You’re a lot better at the whole meditation thing than I am.” Wade’s voice was warm, and Peter squirmed into a better position, propping himself up on one arm so he could look Wade in the eyes. Wade was smiling, looking proud and ecstatic, and Peter leaned in without thinking to press a kiss to Wade’s grin. It was a moment before Wade responded, tangling a hand in Peter’s hair and holding him close.  
  
Then the timer went off, a shrill sound in the silent room, and Wade pulled back with a sheepish smile.  
  
“Let's take a pause on this, huh? Dinner’s ready.”  
  


* * *

  
  
They’d been doing this for a little more than a month now, and they’d settled into a routine with it. Peter was back at school and his internship. He’d gone back to patrolling, though he only managed one night a week, between Mr.Stark and Wade’s demands that he gets enough sleep and focus on his school work for now.  
  
Tonight was different though. Wade had messaged Peter around lunch time, asking him to come out to Long Island City after class. He’d given him an address but refused to give up and more detail than that. The mystery of it only made Peter slightly less grumpy about the change in plans.  
  
When he got there, Wade was chatting with a smartly dressed middle aged woman. He was wearing civilian clothes, and he’d left the mask and gloves at home. Peter approached cautiously. Wade smiled widely when he saw Peter and took his hand as soon as he was close enough. The woman smiled as well.   
  
“You must be Peter then, Wade’s told me a lot about you. Are you guys ready to go up then?” Wade nodded, and they turned towards the building behind them. Peter followed, confused.  
  
“Wade says you like to take photos, Peter?” The woman was impossibly obnoxiously chipper as she opened the door to the condo building for them, crossing to the elevator on the back wall. “There’s a terrace on the roof of the building with amazing views of the city skyline. I’m sure you could get some great shots from up there.”   
  
Peter nodded. Wade beamed at him, still holding his hand firmly. Peter tried to relax, to clear his mind, hoping he could catch some sort of clue from the bond, but he couldn’t quite get to it. They got out on the fourth floor, and the woman was across the little hallway in a moment, unlocking one of the two doors.  
  
The apartment was pretty big, with floor to ceiling windows along one wall, and a sliding door out onto a balcony. It looked new, everything still perfectly clean, with shiny stainless steel appliances in the kitchen and hardwood floors throughout. The woman opened a closet on the other side of the room.  
  
“They just put the washer and dryer in this week, everything’s brand new.” She left it open and moved to the door next to it. “There’s plenty of storage space, with some more in the basement if you need it. This unit also has a soaking tub, huge and deep, that’s not something you’re going to find many places.”   
  
Peter looked up at Wade questioningly, and Wade looked a little nervous. He cocked his head to the side and gestured to the space around them with his free hand.  
  
“What do you think, Baby Boy?” He sounded a bit to the left of cheerful. Peter nodded.  
  
“It’s nice.” Peter looked around the space.   
  
“Nice, uh…” Wade paused and licked his lips. “Nice enough to come live here? With me I mean? Like, together?” Peter tried to suppress the smile, but the corners of his mouth twitched up without his permission. He looked out the windows, over the city, then back at Wade.  
  
“Definitely. It’s got a great view.” He tried to keep his voice steady. Wade smiled crookedly down at him.   
  
“It’s even better from here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, thanks so much to everyone who actually stuck around to finish this. There will probably be more, but not right away. I have a few other things in queue.
> 
> kudos comments and con crit are always appreciated
> 
> Thanks again!

**Author's Note:**

> any feedback would be amazing, im still getting back into writing fiction and writing is hard.  
> come yell at me over on tumblr @ursweetheartless
> 
> and hey, i love you


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